


Once Upon a Dream

by Anonymous



Category: Ragnatela
Genre: Abusive Parents, Anxiety Attacks, Broken Families, Character Death, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Gaslighting, Graphic Violence, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Molestation, Murder, Original Character(s), POV Original Character, Parent Death, Parenthood, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicide, god i hate writing these tags, toxic parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 110,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26608018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Patience Winslow left Garland City with her two tormentors in prison and a void of loneliness aching in her heart. Of course, the universe has a sick sense of humor, and she finds herself pregnant with Leonardo's child. Seven years later, Patience is raising their daughter Marilyn Flora Winslow by herself, but nothing can remain peaceful for her or for her daughter. Marilyn will soon find out what it means to have the Winslow luck.
Relationships: Patience Winslow/Leonardo Borghese, Patience Winslow/Salvatore Mallozzi
Comments: 66
Kudos: 42
Collections: Anonymous Fics





	1. A Girl Can Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ragnatela](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7942924) by [Quieta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quieta/pseuds/Quieta). 



> This is a NextGen sequel/fic to Quieta's original story: "Ragnatela" with kitwrites AU epilogue "The Visit". These authors have inspired me so much and have been so supportive.

She saw her mother waiting for her, her small frame protecting Marilyn- as much as a petite woman like Mama could- from the sun. Marilyn ran towards her mother, her shoes clicking like a horse’s on the pavement, eager to be in her embrace. Patience frowned, not that Marilyn cared since Mama was _always_ frowning about something. Even though she knew she’d be scolded for running in her new shoes, her desperation to be in her Mama’s arms was just too great. Patience’s small frame stumbled as her seven year old daughter rammed into her, knocking the breath out of her. “Marilyn Flora-,” she began, but was cut off from her thoughts quickly.

“I missed you Mama!” Marilyn said in her most innocent and wholesome voice, as she pressed her face into her mother’s stomach as she tightened her arms around her. She felt Mama sag like a deflated balloon, before finally giving into wrapping her arms around Marilyn.

Marilyn always hugged first. She noticed that this was odd when all of the other moms hugged their kids first, spreading their arms to welcome them into their comforting embrace. _Mama and I are different._ By all means, Marilyn would like to add that Mama wasn’t a _bad_ mother, she was just different, but she could be better. It was odd to Marilyn that her Mama wasn’t open to taking criticism for as much as she served it. Marilyn unwrapped her arms and stared up at her Mama, her emerald eyes showing as much affection as she could muster. It worked, since Mama’s face was more relaxed, though her posture was still stiff, “Let’s go home.”

Marilyn slipped her hand- as she always did if she wanted that contact- into Mama’s, letting her mother’s warmth transfer to her. Marilyn was by no means cold, since the fall chill hadn’t arrived even though the leaves began to change, but there was something different about feeling the warmth of the weather and then the warmth of her Mama. _Comfort,_ she thought. It was a new word that they learned today in class for spelling and vocabulary, which reminded her of the spelling list lying not so delicately in her backpack. She’d have to do it when she got home if her mother asked. Marilyn couldn’t lie so well to her Mama. She _always_ seemed to know, which persuaded Marilyn to always be honest with her mommy, even if she wasn’t to everyone else.

Mama hated lying, which confused Marilyn. Mama lied a lot about _big_ things, especially when it came to the dreaded question, “Where’s her Papa?”

People asked that a lot, and made a big deal out of it. Mama never had an answer to the question that the stranger’s felt so entitled to, nor did she have one for Marilyn. She had asked and asked time and time again, before she came to the conclusion that she would just get the answer that the nosy strangers did and never really know. She was upset at first, but then found later that she preferred it. She preferred to leave the thought of him to her daydreams, about what type of man he was and what he liked to do. Her favorite fantasy at the moment was that her Papa was a prince who sent her away with Mama for their protection, but would one day come back to make her a queen. Marilyn of course, not Mama. Mommy wasn’t queenly. She had a slouched posture and rarely smiled.She swore and drank, and when she was drunk she raved like a Pentecostal preacher. No high-born woman would do such a thing! 

But Marilyn would be a regal queen. She had lots of practice from what her daddy taught her. So far her daddy was a Ken doll. She had unwrapped it on her fifth birthday and had affectionately named him Papa. “Papa” was a plastic, blonde, and blue-eyed man that dressed really nice! In fact, she was almost certain that the doll was based on her daddy. Her biggest pieces of evidence so far were A) that the doll was released the year she was born, 1961, B) that Ken had curly blonde hair like hers, and C) he was a good dresser! Marilyn wasn’t the _best_ dresser, no no, Mama didn’t have enough money for that but she dressed well enough for a girl her age and more than made up for its lacking traits by having the best hair in her grade. Her hair was a shiny blonde like Barbie and Ken’s that naturally curled, which made all of the other girls jealous. Marilyn ignored the fact that her hair was getting darker like Mama’s.

She remembered that she had begged and begged Mama for the Ken doll, because she knew if she didn’t she’d end up getting another _Junior Detective Kit_. It made no sense to Marilyn why Mama would think she’d want that. Detective work seemed messy and difficult. Why on Earth would she want to work hard _outside_ of school? Besides, girls’ weren’t detectives! She told Mama that once, and she didn’t like that. Mama didn’t like the doll or the fact that Marilyn called him Papa. She learned quickly that it was better to call him by another name in front of Mama to make her happy, or at least less unhappy. “Marilyn!” Mama said sharply, her volume causing Marilyn’s heart to shoot up into her throat, “Are you listening?!”

 _No, of course not._ She didn’t say anything, since it was better to not say anything than to admit your guilt aloud. Mama told her that, but Marilyn didn’t seem to think that advice applied to her when she was speaking with Mama. Mama sighed frustratedly, and for a moment looked like she would go on one of her rants, but she slumped and probably decided it wasn’t worth it. Marilyn wasn’t curious to find out if it would cause trouble for her. She never tried to find trouble, but it always seemed to find her. Especially in the case of Rodney Lord, a stupid boy in her grade that was rat like and dirty. He loved to tease her and pull on her hair, and would never stop unless Mr. Morgan stepped in, but even then he didn’t get in trouble. “Boys are full of the devil,” Mama liked to say and Marilyn couldn’t agree more (with maybe the exception of her Papa).

Marilyn tried fighting back, but Mr. Morgan never seemed to side with her. She had hoped Mama would give him an earful, that she’d tell Mr. Morgan some of the unkind and Unchristian words that she’d liberally used at home, but she never did. “ _It’s not worth fighting back._ ” she said in a tired and depressed tone.

It was one of the things she wished she could tell Mama that she didn’t like about her. “Why are you frowning?” Mama asked her loudly, probably hoping it’d break her out of her quiet state.

Marilyn shrugged and mumbled an “I dunno,” which Mama didn’t appreciate, but she didn’t push it probably because she didn’t care. It was fine with her though, since she didn’t care much to talk about it. Finally the peeling white-painted gates appeared in front of her, and with a hop over the broken pavement, they were home.

Home was a peeling white-painted, one bedroom, one bath, a house with a dried grassy lawn, or what she guessed what was _supposed_ to be a lawn. Their house wasn’t like the others on the street, some of which were featured on billboards and magazines. It wasn’t the nicest house, but then again not all princesses started their stories in nice houses. Aurora didn’t! She lived in a cottage with three fairies after her daddy sent her away to protect her from an evil witch, like what Marilyn hoped her daddy did with her.

Mama opened the door for them and quickly released Marilyn’s hand. She was always the first to drop it with the swiftness of someone dropping a hot coal. “There’s a snack in the fridge. Take it and go do your homework. I’ll be in my room.”

Mama walked towards her bedroom as she said the last part of the sentence. Mama worked three different jobs; she was a waitress, a person who sold clothes at their local D.I., and a makeup seller. Mama wasted no time complaining about how much she hated it, the community, and the people. Marilyn could list every single reason for every single job at this point about why Mama hated her work. While that’d be preferable to doing her spelling and addition, she thought it best to do that so she could be with Papa and watch Sleeping Beauty with him.

It took her almost an hour to get through her snack, mainly because she let herself daydream about the type of far-off kingdom her Papa ran.

“ _Lynnie,” her Papa said affectionately, using the nickname that Marilyn had created for herself,“Do you know what queen’s have to be like?”_

“ _Pretty and kind.” she replied instantly, allowing herself a dreamy conversation with her Papa._

_“Smart. They have to be smart, and a queen can’t do that if she doesn’t do her homework.” he said, a gentle smile growing across his face._

_For papa._ Marilyn peeled her backpack open slowly, taking the abused spelling and addition papers out of her bag. She examined them closely as if they were aged parchments with very important kingdom saving information on them. Her daydream entertained her into doing her homework, so the princess silently and diligently began to work in order to save her kingdom. _I’ll make the King proud._

_***_

The green glow of the television illuminated Marilyn’s face as she watched the poor princess walk over to her unavoidable fate. She hated this part. She had watched this movie enough to know there’d be a happy ending, there _always_ was a happy ending. Just as Sleeping Beauty was about to prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel, the screen faded to black and the static-y sound of the tv hummed in front of her as she let out an indignant cry. “Marilyn Flora Winslow! It is 9 pm!”

“The movie’s almost over!” she shrieked, turning around and scowling at her mother furiously.

Her mother stared down at her with frustrated green eyes, tendrils of her brown hair falling over them as her loose bun collapsed making her look wild. Mama’s face was tight featuring all of the lines on her forehead, as her light green nightgown hung loosely on her body. There was an alertness in her stance, eyes, and voice that Marilyn rarely saw, “It is over tonight. Have you brushed your teeth yet?” she asked narrowing her eyes at her young daughter, who looked at her defiantly.

“I was going to when the movie’s over.” she said, her own green eyes matching her the ferocity of her mother’s.

“I have work tomorrow and,” she started before Marilyn cut her off.

“You _always_ have work,” she moaned.

“Yes, because in case you’ve forgotten, we need to pay the bills so we’re not thrown out! Do you have any idea how lucky you are to-,” but whatever Mama said, Marilyn tuned out.

She grasped Papa tightly and stomped out of the room with ferocity and conviction. The slamming of her door echoed and shook the thin vulnerable walls of their house, but it wasn’t loud enough to mask the unsparingly used curses and shrieks of her mother calling her an ungrateful, and disobedient child. She didn’t know what disobedient meant, but she knew it was a word that girls’ weren’t supposed to be. Her bedroom door slammed open, the door handle shattering the thin wall that now spotted a hole in it. Too many times had the wall been abused by the rough slam of the handle, so really it was only matter of time before it broke, but the violent shattering frightened her into tears.

The moment her Mama stepped in did she realize how far she pushed her. Mama roughly grabbed her arm and bent her over, delivering swift smacks on her bottom. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her face grew hot and red with fear and embarrassment, as Mama began her Pentecostal tirade, “ _Never_ talk to me that way! Do you know how much I do for you?! I buy you clothes, shelter you, feed you, and buy you those goddamn Barbies you ungrateful girl,” she said as she continued her punishment, “I work so hard and you don’t appreciate a goddamn thing!”

Marilyn was sobbing too much as her butt began to sting and throb at the abuse it was receiving; she couldn’t even hear the own choking distressed croak in her Mama’s voice. She didn’t know when the spanking ended, or how many strikes she had received before she was pulled back up to face her Mama who was glowering at her with resentment. Mama had the beauty to be an angel, if her moods hadn’t been so similar to a demon’s. _She’s not a bad mom. She’s not a bad mom. She’s all you have._ Mama was continuing to rant, not that Marilyn listened to any of it. Instead she focused on the story in her head, _“Her royal highness, Princess Marilyn!” the crier announced as the music halted._

_Marilyn slipped her small hand into her Papa’s big one, enjoying the warm comfort he provided. It was different than Mama’s, more gentle and accepting of her touch. His hand wanted to show her the affection and love that her mother reluctantly gave. He slowly helped her walk down a grand staircase as her glittery pink dress and train trailed behind her. All of her subjects gazed at her adoringly, the daughter of their beloved king._

_When they reached the end of the staircase, her Papa signaled the musicians to continue their set as he led her in a waltz. “I love you my princess.” he said softly, as his dark blue eyes gazed at her adoringly._

_“I love you too Papa,” she said gladly, with a softness in her voice that even she didn’t recognize._

_She pressed her face into him, and when she opened them again he was gone._

Her weeping, snotty face was pressed into Mama’s, quietly sobbing. She was murmuring soft apologies and telling her she loved her very much. She didn’t even realize she had begun to hug and apologize to her. Mama was tense but hugged her in return before separating herself from her child and depriving her of her warmth. Everything was blurry and watery, like a water color painting without any of the delicateness or peace. “You’re not getting away with it that easily Marilyn Winslow. Brush your teeth and go to bed.” she said snappily.

Mama’s body was always so warm, so comforting even though it held a tenseness, which was the most similar to her cold moods and tones. Marilyn hung her head and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Everything was blurred, but the outlines of the shapes still helped her accomplish her task. She rubbed the bristles harshly against her teeth and gums, disregarding how much it pained the sensitive tissue. The minty taste stung her tongue as she scrubbed it, gagging as it pressed too far back. She harshly spit it out, letting flicks of saliva and toothpaste sprinkle the mirror as she leaned down to rinse out her mouth.

She looked into the mirror, her vision finally starting to clear up. _I don’t look like a princess._ Her eyes were swollen and puffy, her head had a sharp ache, her nose clogged, and her pale porcelain face was red. _Don’t look._ Marilyn slowly marched to her bedroom, now the sole occupant. After she dished out her punishment, Mama really had no interest to stay around. She said her piece and to be honest, Marilyn was relieved that she hadn’t decided to stay. She crawled into bed and snugly tucked herself under her pillows, pretending someone gentle was tucking her in, maybe singing her a lullaby.

 _Mama used to sing me lullabies, but that was once upon a dream. Once Upon a Dream._ Marilyn sang herself the song, until her heavy eyelids closed and felt the darkness consume her , as if she herself had pricked her finger on a spindle of a spinning wheel.


	2. Mama's Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn is left at school and tries to find Patience.

Shards of sunlight broke through the curtains guarding the window, illuminating the white-walled room with a natural glow and shone brightly into the occupant’s sensitive eyes. Marilyn grumbled and turned over to press her face into the pillow, hoping to return to the incredible dream she was having. It had been so good! She was a warrior princess who led her army against an evil dark witch, who matched Maleficent’s terrifying demeanor. Marilyn was quite proud of herself for being so brave in her dream and although she was ordinary, defeated a great evil! It was only fitting of course that her dreams had to be cut short by her mother who banged on her door, yelling at her to get up for school. Maybe there was something prophetic about her Mama ruining her dreams, but she chose not to linger on that.

She swung her legs off the bed and cringed as the light hit her more violently, causing her to have a severe headache, a side-effect from her intense sobbing the night before. Apparently, it wasn’t enough of a punishment to be spanked and have a sore bottom, but she “needed” the added penalty of a throbbing head. Marilyn quickly decided she’d be in a bad mood, and would feel no guilt for the people who incurred her childish wrath. She grumpily slipped into a baby blue dress and picked out white stockings. It was her nicest dress and set of clothes in general, only meant for church on Sundays, but of course, she decided to spitefully wear it to irritate Mama.

As she exited her room, she was hit by the nauseating smell of burning eggs. _Mama’s cooking,_ she thought glumly. Mama wasn’t a good cook and usually made very basic and bland tasting meals. Typically Marilyn was responsible for her own breakfast, which was always a cheap store-brand cereal, which she much preferred now, but she couldn’t help feeling curious. Whenever Mama cooked breakfast it meant she was trying to start the day off a little bit nicer than she had ended it the night before. _Lucky me._

“Good morning sweetheart,” Mama said sweetly, not bothering to look back at the small girl behind her.

Mama was sour most of the time, just in general and not solely towards Marilyn. Her change of attitude would usually be comforting, but now it was just odd. “Morning,” Marilyn said in a small voice, suddenly forgetting her mission to release her wrath.

She noticed that Mama was dressed nicely in business-y type clothes. _She hardly wears them, so she must be doing something important today_. The spine chilling scraping of the plan shook Marilyn out of her thoughts as Mama scraped the burnt eggs onto a plate, and place two slice of bacon beside it before turning around. Her smile quickly transformed into an annoyed expression as she took in the sight of her daughter in her _Sunday only_ clothes. _Go ahead,_ Marilyn thought. Mama’s lips pursed and her eyes reflected that she was thinking hard. Mama’s smile returned, but less natural and less friendly. Mama must have decided the fight wasn’t worth it, “I made you breakfast.” she said as she placed the plate on the table, “Go ahead. I’ll drive you to school today.”

Marilyn slipped into her seat and stared at the eggs with reluctance and mild disgust. “Why? Why can’t we walk?” she asked, as she decided to eat the bacon slowly so she could avoid eating the eggs.

“I have an interview this morning for a secretary position.” Mama said brightly.

“So you’re going to answer phones and stuff?” she asked, as she bit into the bacon.

Marilyn had a vague idea of what a secretary did. The women in the front office were called secretaries, and all they seemed to do was answer phone calls and file papers. “Yes, among _other_ things. It’s a position at a law firm. If I get it, I can quit my other three jobs.”

“Oh,” Marilyn said quietly.

Mama seemed happy and excited about it, and if she stayed in this mood, then maybe she’d allow Marilyn to stay up an hour later tonight. She thought it over and in her most enthusiastic voice said, “That’s great! I hope you get it Mommy!”

Mama turned around and smiled, a genuine smile at her daughter. Her eyes were softer and sparkled like emeralds, and her smile warmed her face. Mama was very pretty, and even though she liked that she was blonde like she suspected her Papa was, Marilyn very much wanted to look like Mama one day. Marilyn’s mood began to match her mother’s and a few minutes later, they abandoned the eggs that would crust to the dishes in favor of hopping into the car and driving the short distance to school. They said their goodbyes and kissed each other on the cheek as they separated for the several hours they routinely did each day. With a last wave, Marilyn went into school, her grudge long forgotten.

***

It was a great day for Marilyn. She one upped rat-faced Rodney in math today, and was complimented by Mrs. Hayes, the secretary, on her lovely dress. She brimmed with excitement at the thought of sharing the news with Mama, and hoped beyond hope that Mama would share exciting news with her. If Mama got the job, then maybe they’d celebrate at the nice Italian restaurant a few blocks down from the school. It was fancy, according to Olivia Moore, a girl in Marilyn’s grade. She couldn’t pronounce the name, but it sounded elegant and fit for a princess. Mama didn’t like Italian food, or Italians, but never said why. A boy in her class was of Italian descent and always brought in homemade Italian food for lunch that smelled just heavenly. His mama offered Marilyn the chance to come over for dinner, but when she asked Mama, all she said was “No daughter of mine is going to spend a minute with those goddamn Dagos.”

 _Maybe today will be different,_ she thought brightly. She ran outside and towards the front of the school, scanning the swarming crowd for her Mama. Panic set in after searching the sea of faces only to not find the recognizable beauty of her Mama. “Mama!” she called out, hoping that Mama just couldn’t see her, but that thought soon left her as the crowd grew thinner and thinner until she realized that Mama wasn’t here.

She had repeatedly shouted for her Mama, and was in the stage of unconsolable crying. Her distress was becoming more and more apparent as Mrs. Hayes came over to her and wiped the tears from her face, “What’s wrong sweetie?”

Marilyn could barely form the words, but somehow saying _Mama_ was enough to catch Mrs. Hayes up on the evidently dire and distressing situation. Mrs. Hayes coaxed her inside and into the front office, where she guided her into a soft leather chair to relax in. She continued to cry as Mrs. Hayes conversed with the secretary, quietly but not quietly enough for Marilyn not to pick up the bits and pieces.

“I’m not surprised. She’s never seemed to be a warm woman ,” the secretary whispered.

Marilyn’s sobs were hurting her chest too much for her to defend her Mama’s honor. Mrs. Hayes walked back over to Marilyn and kneeled down to match Marilyn’s eye level, her hazel ones gazing into the small sliver of green that was hiding behind Marilyn’s swelling eyes. “Just take a deep breath sweetie. There you go,” she said softly as Marilyn started to even out her breathing.

“Mama’s never late. Mama always picks me up! I don’t-,” she began to blubber again before Mrs. Hayes cut her off.

“Can we call your Daddy?” she asked softly.

Marilyn tensed up and looked away, wiping her eyes and snotty nose on her finest dress that she desperately tried to keep clean all day. “No.” she said quietly, choosing to look over at the suddenly fascinating plant that stood in the corner of the office.

As Mrs. Hayes opened her mouth, Marilyn decided just to beat her to the punch, “Mama is my only parent.”

She did her best to make it sound the least incriminating bit of information as possible, but it evidently didn’t work as Mrs. Hayes closed her mouth and turned away to look at the secretary disapprovingly. Suddenly the warrior princess from her dream surged through Marilyn, “She doesn’t need anyone. She’s a good Mama!” she said in defense of Mama’s honor.

Without a second thought, she stood up and with as much grump as a seven-year-old could muster, she picked up her leather backpack and marched out with a quick “I’ll walk home.”

Marilyn always wanted to walk by herself. She had the feeling that Mama hated walking her to school as much as Marilyn did, but Mama refused to let her walk alone. “And let you get picked up by a sick pervert?! No!” she had said firmly in an _end of discussion_ tone when Marilyn had asked for the first and only time.

Marilyn couldn’t help but feel embarrassed by the whole situation. Now everyone would think that she had a bad mama, and then the office ladies will surely judge her for having no daddy. That part was her fault, she could’ve just said “No” and left it at that. Now she’s embarrassed them. As she marched home, her face heated up though she didn’t know if it was in embarrassment, frustration, or from the pounding sun. _Mama, why didn’t you pick me up? You put me in this…I…it’s not really_ ** _my_** _fault._ She grew angrier when she saw their scuffed red sedan in the driveway. _So she just forgot about me._

She marched through the white fenced gate with the might of the warrior princess from last night, ready to unleash all of her frustration on her mother. Marilyn roughly pulled up the rock that hid the key. It took her two to three times for her to unlock the door due to the aggression she was showing the lock. She finally managed to find her way inside, and carelessly tossed the key to the side. “MAMA!” she screamed in frustration, “MAMA, ARE YOU HOME?!”

The house was silent and had no signs of anyone being in it since this morning. The small kitchen still had their breakfast plates, but the eggs had since long grown crusty and spoiled. Her eyes narrowed and screamed out, “I KNOW YOU’RE HOME! THE CAR IS HERE MAMA!”

Her shouting didn’t elicit a response. Her heartbeat sped up and tears reappeared in her eyes. She’d never been home alone before, she’d always been with Mama except for those seven and a half hours they spent apart during the weekdays. _Did she abandon me?_ That very thought sent her into hysterics. Any reasonable person would suspect that maybe Patience had realized she was late and was on her way to pick up her daughter, and they just happened to miss each other on the way to and from. To a rational person, there could be a number of reasons as to why Patience did not pick up her daughter from school that Friday on the 11th October, 1968. Rationality however, was not something a seven year old in distress was capable of doing.

There was no plan. No idea of what to do or where to go in case of an emergency, and definitely no one to call. Mama didn’t have any friends, a trait that Marilyn inherited. Mama went to work and came home. Marilyn went to school and came home. Their life was monotonous and they were creatures dedicated to a routine. _We have a routine. Just stick to the routine and everything will happen the way it’s supposed to,_ Marilyn thought with a seven-year old’s sound logic.

Still heaving in deep distressed breaths, Marilyn went to the kitchen and looked for a snack. _That’s the first thing you do when you get home. You have your snack._ She ate her snack asif her mother’s life depended on it, because for all Marilyn knew, it did. _Homework next._ Marilyn left her plate in the sink and pulled out that day’s homework. It really seemed silly to give kids homework on a Friday, a thought she voiced to her teacher for which she was rewarded a smack on her knuckles. She grimaced at the memory and felt a phantom pain soar through her knuckles, even though it had happened months ago.

She spent the next thirty minutes finishing her routines, hoping that would magically make everything better. _Mama would say you’re stupid,_ she thought sadly. As harsh as Mama was, she’d love to just see her right now. _She’ll walk through the door and no matter what, I’ll give her a big hug. I’ll be good…_ Marilyn’s heart froze, _Maybe she doesn’t want me anymore. Maybe she left me, because she still hates me from last night._ More tears spilled out of her eyes, streaming like a waterfall down her pale porcelain cheeks. Her soft cries became painful sobs that eventually took its toll on her and her small shaking body succumbed to exhaustion.

***

Only after several hours, did Marilyn wake up after her body protested the uncomfortable sleeping position she had assumed at the table. Her head was pounding, whilst her shoulders and neck ached. She looked at the clock, and knew it was sometime around 8 PM. They were learning how to tell time in school, and she considered herself fairly good at telling the hour, though minutes were a struggle. As she rubbed the crusty sand-man dust out of her eyes, she remembered her predicament. “Mama?” she called in a hoarse voice that had suffered the abuse of her wails.

“Mama!” she said a little louder, straining her voice and sending a sharp pain down her throat.

 _If Mama was home, she would’ve carried me to bed,_ she thought hopefully even though Patience had never been prone to demonstrating such a gentle and nurturing action towards her daughter, nevertheless a girl could hope. _“Hope and magic are for children,_ ” she heard Mama once say to their pastor in a conversation that Marilyn believed she was not supposed to be listening to.

Mama talked about God a lot, but she didn’t much like talking about Him with other people. The ladies at church didn’t like Mama, well, no one really did. Pastor Marks and his wife were the only ones who spoke with Mama gently and genuinely, but Marilyn thought even the pastor and his wife would prefer not to if they weren’t bound by some divine obligation. _Perhaps I should call them,_ she thought before frowning in a way that much resembled her Mama’s, _Mama wouldn’t like that though. Mama doesn’t like nosy people._ It didn’t take the seven-year old long to think of calling the police. _Mama doesn’t_ ** _dislike_** _them. Grandpa was a constable, and Mama was an investigator._

 _Mama doesn’t like people snooping, but it’s better to have someone like the police then have the nosy churchgoers come around, just to turn around and gossip about her poor parenting right after_. Their kitchen phone was too tall for Marilyn to reach, and the only other one was in Mama’s room. _Mama’ll kill me,_ but desperate times call for desperate measures. _I just want mama…_ and with that thought she steeled her resolve and got up from the uncomfortable chair, letting it scratch against the floor at a painful pitch, to go to Mama’s room. For extra bravery, Marilyn took Papa and held him tightly, seeking the parental protection that she so desperately needed.

Her footsteps were light across the dingy brown carpet that’s color had originally been a tan before it darkened from the constant misuse and lack of upkeep. Mama wasn’t really the “keep it clean” sort, which would’ve been fine with Marilyn if Mama hadn’t expected her to keep her room clean and her toys put away. Mama never put her toys away, and when she brought that up she got a slap on the mouth and a strict “Don’t talk back!”

She had stopped voicing her opinions on the subject after that. She felt her way down the hallway, the overhead lightbulb having long been out of use with neither woman being keen nor motivated to replace it. They didn’t mind much, since it had an annoying hum when it was turned on. Marilyn stood in front of the door nervously. _Mama doesn’t like me in her room, but Mama needs to come home._ With a deep breath, and a constricting grip on her Papa, Marilyn twisted the rusting doorknob that squeaked uncomfortably as she pushed the door open. Papa was carelessly dropped on the ground, as Marilyn let out a horrifying blood-curdling scream at the traumatizing sight in front of her. _Mama was home._


	3. Winslow Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn reels from the aftermath of finding her Mama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, no...this won't be a happy story. WARNING: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION IN THE BEGINNING. And then there's the grief.

The pale white peeling walls were suddenly freshly painted with splashes and strokes of red. Mama had finally painted them, only it was with her blood that was sprayed across the walls and pooling beneath her head. Marilyn wanted to go to Mama, and tell her to wake up. She wanted to go and help her, but she couldn’t move. She was as still as Mama, with the only movement coming from the vibrating screams from her small chest that was already in pain from her prior sobbing. If you had asked Marilyn, everything was completely silent. If you asked the residents of Sycamore Drive, then you would gather a very different response.

“Mama,” her lips moved as her body stayed still, examining the cold lifeless form of her mother.

When people died, you were supposed to kiss their foreheads and say goodbye. Because that’s what Mama was, dead. Dead and gone, leaving her only child alone in the scary world that had chewed up Patience Rebecca Winslow and spat her out. Marilyn had no urge to kiss her head, because well, there wasn’t much of her head to kiss that wasn’t on the peeling blend of the white and red wall.

Marilyn numbly stumbled over to her Mama, her steps were much like that of a marionette, clumsy and controlled by an outside force. As she fell at Mama’s feet, she saw the small cold revolver lying carelessly at Mama’s side, the one Mama always insisted on carrying. In some universe where it wasn’t Mama, it could’ve been poetic that the small cold weapon had finished off the woman who had possessed those very traits. In some universe where Marilyn was more perceptive, she’d notice the roughly pushed stockings and bruising around her Mama’s wrists. But she didn’t live in that universe. _It’s too much,_ she thought as she buried her face into her mother’s scarred ankles, realizing and feeling a sense of despair that Mama was still in her nicest outfit. _I need you Mama, I need you Mama, come back._ These were her only thoughts for the rest of the night, even after she was pried away by her neighbors, shuffled outside to see the painfully blinding red and blue lights of the police car where a crowd had gathered, and finally yet delicately put in the back seat.

She was still sobbing, despite the attempts at comfort, as the police car pulled away from her home that still contained the cold lifeless forms of her Mama and Papa.

***

The following few days were a blur. She remembered being asked several questions, and she assumed she had answered them because they nodded and seemed pleased with her answers. Some people talked to her softly, and others not so much. It would’ve bothered her if she had remembered any of the conversations, but she hadn’t. The first night, after she was interrogated, she was carelessly kept in a foster home. _That’s where you go when you have no one,_ she thought coldly.

The next night wasn’t better. Nothing would be better, but it wasn’t as bad as _that night._ Pastor Marks and his wife, Emilie, generously took her in for the time being. They had an extra room full of toys and a child’s bed, but Marilyn had never recalled seeing them with any child that resembled their own. Then again, she paid little to no interest into the lives of others. Pastor Marks and his wife took on the responsibility of planning the funeral and orchestrating services, but evidently this was an unpopular decision with their communion.

It didn’t take long for the grapevine and loose lipped women to spill that Mama had committed an egregious mortal sin. That Sunday, Pastor Marks and Emilie left her to her own devices as they saw the rest of the congregation out after services. She insisted she would be fine, as the last thing she wanted was to hear how _sorry_ people were at this _tragic_ loss. As if they didn’t cast stones at her Mama the minute Marilyn left their gaze. For a place of worship, the church women sure casted several judgements as if they were the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Marilyn had to suffer through hearing the thoughts of Mrs. Carter, Mrs. Jamison, and Mrs. Coombs.

“The poor girl-,” Mrs. Carter said, pushing her red cat eye glasses to her pudgy face.

“So selfish, and shameful! Does she have any idea what this will do to the girl’s reputation? What kind of mother-,” Mrs. Coombs said, pressing her hand to her chest as she often did when she discussed _scandalous_ and _dramatic_ news.

Mama had as many thoughts on Mrs. Coombs as she did on Mama. “Are you surprised? Patience was always a cold bitter one. No young woman has any business being that way.” Mrs. Jamison said in a biting tone.

“No young woman has any business having a child and being unmarried. I knew, I just _knew_ she’d fall apart. Raising a child on her own?” Mrs. Coombs tsked, “It’s unseemly.”

“At least she didn’t take Marilyn with her. Oh God, I’ve heard stories of mothers and fathers taking-,” Mrs. Jamison said, her voice breaking.

“Don’t finish that thought! I cannot bear it. The poor girl, all alone in the world.” Mrs. Carter said, clutching her pearls to her pudgy neck.

Marilyn disliked Mrs. Carter the most. At least Mrs. Coombs and Mrs. Jamison were upfront about being fish wives, whereas Mrs. Carter acted as if she would never partake in such an unseemly, and unladylike activity. Mama called her a hypocrite. It was a big word that Marilyn was familiar with, as that was what Mama used when she ranted to her young daughter after Sunday services.

“I think she’ll be better off, personally. With a mother like Patience, I don’t want to imagine how she’d turn out. Mrs. Marks has said that they’re planning to file for permanent custody.” said Mrs. Coombs.

Marilyn stilled, and stared angrily at the Bible she was pretending to read. _The nerve, the nerve of trying to snatch her after Mama’s death. Mama isn’t even_ ** _buried_** _yet._ People were fake. They were as fake as the existence of her Papa that she sought in the Ken doll that most likely still lied in the grim red-sprayed room.

“If anyone deserves the gift of a child, it’s the Pastor and his wife. Why do women like _her_ receive such blessings when people like the Marks do not?” Mrs. Jamison added.

 _I’m not their daughter. They’re not Mama and Papa. My Mama’s name is Patience and she loved me._ A hot tear rolled down her cheek at the thought of her mom telling her “I love you.” The pure thought, since she didn’t have an actual memory. Maybe she did, maybe it was so long ago that she had forgotten, but nevertheless it was said.

“That’s none of our business. It’s the Lord’s work, and I do not care to meddle in His affairs.” Mrs. Carter said sharply and righteously.

 _Hypocrites._ Marilyn was seething, her face hot and her eyes now spilling with tears. _How can they be so mean? Mama was a good mom._ Even if Mama wasn’t, Marilyn would spend the rest of her days saying otherwise. She refused for the name of Patience Winslow to be sullied or disgraced. Marilyn harshly closed the Bible she was pretending to read and rose up defiantly, her posture stiff and indifferent like Mama’s. She wiped her eyes, with her green satin sleeve, that were angrier then they were sad. As she was about to stride over to those fishwives and rant at their unseemly and ungodly activity of gossip and disrespecting the dead, she was suddenly interrupted by Emilie touching her shoulder. “Ready to go home sweetheart?”

The fishwives turned as their eyes settled on the angry green ones that would’ve killed them if she had the power to do so. _It’s not home,_ she thought bitterly as she slipped her hand into the one Mrs. Marks offered. If she were not in grief, she would’ve been warmed by the gesture of someone _offering their hand to her._ She looked at the ground angrily, focusing on the sound of her new clacking shoes that Mama had bought her last Saturday. It seemed strange Mama was alive just a week ago, and now she was dead and waiting in a morgue where she’d be lying on a slab or in an ice box next to several other corpses.

Marilyn thought of those other corpses, and the lives they left behind. Were people being nice to them? Were their loved ones around a table talking about how good they were and remembering all of the happy memories? She hoped so. She had hoped they had more than a paragraph in a newspaper that had a photo of Mama, that wasn’t even her best. Mama’s birthday, death day, and parents were mentioned. Mama was “survived through her beloved daughter Marilyn who was her _greatest joy and accomplishment_ ”. Marilyn was sure that Mama wouldn’t have liked that, but no one bothered to ask her her thoughts on Mama.

Mr. and Mrs. Marks held her hand as they walked back to the house on Woodbury Drive. They looked like a family, a “proper” family that the congregation wanted to see and who felt that the Marks and Marilyn deserved. The Pastor had sandy blonde hair, bordering on brown that was neatly combed. If hair could be described as righteous, then the Pastor’s hair would fit that description, almost as well as his wife’s hair fit the word pious. Mrs. Marks had pale blonde hair like Barbie with warm brown eyes that shined with a gentleness and sense of affection that was absent in Mama’s. Still, Marilyn would give anything to see her Mama’s eyes in anything but a mirror when she looked at her own reflection.

They approached the house and it very much _looked_ like a home. It had a symmetrically cut lush green yard with rose bushes surrounding the perimeter. The white fence wasn’t peeling like the one on Sycamore Drive, but looked freshly painted. The windows were clean and the outer walls were a peaceful yellow. It was one of several identical houses, and had a sense of monotony and a lack of individuality that was uncomfortable to Marilyn. Her home was nothing like the Marks’ and was an “eye-sore” in the neighborhood, according to Mr. Favreau, but it was home nonetheless. As monotonous and routine as their lives were, Mama and Marilyn were different from everybody else and that was something Marilyn was just coming to appreciate.

Mr. Marks turned the key and opened the door for Mrs. Marks and Marilyn. She quickly and politely removed her shoes and put them underneath the tall coat rack that looked like a leafless tree. It was the first thing she had learned and apparently it wasn’t “normal” to not do sowhen you entered a home. Mama never made her. They kicked off their shoes when they felt like it and left them laying around, leaving the panic of trying to find a matching pair for the next day.

After removing their attire and putting them in their _appropriate_ places, Marilyn fought the urge to roll her eyes, Mrs. Marks offered to start on lunch. “Would you like to join me darling?” she asked Marilyn, her warm hazel eyes shining in a good nature.

 _Not really,_ she thought but nonetheless Marilyn nodded and followed her into the kitchen. She didn’t really care to try and bond with Mrs. Marks, but she’d rather nod and hmm to the woman’s questions than sit in an awkward silence with the Pastor. He didn’t seem to know what to do or say to her, nor she to him. She walked into the kitchen, her clothed feet padding on the floral linoleum tiles. It matched the obnoxious cheeriness of the kitchen, which had white and yellow striped wallpaper with a pale cabinet and drawer set. There were overhead lights that didn’t flicker and large windows covered with white curtains that weren’t dusty from never being undrawn.

Mrs. Marks pulled out a loaf of bread, a butter knife, mustard, and mayonnaise and assembled it in front of Marilyn. “I’ll cut the deli slices, and you can get started on spreading everything on the bread. Let’s make around six or seven, hm?”

Marilyn nodded and began to do what was asked of her. Mama taught her how to make sandwiches as soon as Marilyn could reach the counter. She had decided it was high time for her to “be more independent”, which was code for, “I don’t want to do this for you anymore.”

Mrs. Marks asked “yes or no” questions, and Marilyn responded with polite but short answers. As Mrs. Marks carried over the deli slices and started laying them out on the bread, Marilyn asked a question that Mama said you weren’t really supposed to ask other people. “Why don’t you have any of your own children?”

Mrs. Marks tensed, a tenseness that held a sense of grief but she seemingly recovered from that quickly. She gave her a smile, the smile adults give when they are asked questions that they don’t really want to answer. Especially to children. “It wasn’t in God’s plan for me to have my own children, but well, we’d still like to be parents one way or another.”

“Is that why you’re trying to adopt me?”, Marilyn asked, not bothering to hide the bitterness in her voice.

If Mrs. Marks heard the bite in her words, then she didn’t acknowledge it. “Well, we’d like to keep you around and be a part of our family. You’re a sweet-,” but Marilyn cut her off.

“You don’t know anything about me!” she protested, slamming the butter knife down.

Mrs. Marks looked over at her, “That’s not true. You’re smart and kind. You are-,”

“Crazy? Like my Mama? I heard what people are saying. You _hated_ my Mama! You’re damning her to hell!” Marilyn shrieked, tears boiling over like a pot of water that had been left to the unbearable heat too long.

Mr. Marks came in after hearing the distress of the seven year old, “What’s going on?”

“My Mama was a good woman! She…she loved…” but she couldn’t finish the sentence, as hard sobs wrecked her body.

Mrs. Marks didn’t seem to care that the seven year old just screamed at her, she instinctively pulled her into a hug, letting the snotty sobbing child bury her face into her belly that couldn’t hold a child inside of its womb. Her body was encased by a set of warm arms, that weren’t tense or reluctant. That were seeking _her_ out, and not the other way around. “Mama loved me! Mama…loved…me…” she continued.

“Yes she did.” Mrs. Marks said, but Marilyn could tell she didn’t believe her own words.

_Mama loved me. Mama loved me. Mama loved me._

_***_

Mrs. Marks offered to sleep with her that night, but Marilyn refused. Mama never did that, and she wouldn’t let anyone else be the first to try. She didn’t want the Marks’ to think they were better parents’ than Mama, and secretly she didn’t want to admit that they _might_ be better than Mama. _Because admitting that means I’m dishonoring Mama and her name, and that can’t happen. That can never happen. Mama tried and for as cold as she was, she did care about me._ She tended to her when she was sick, didn’t nag her, or make her do chores. Mama let her play, as long as she did her homework, but Marilyn supposed that was a fair trade.

Marilyn didn’t sleep much, because when she closed her eyes, she saw Mama again. But Mama wasn’t Mama, she didn’t look like herself. She was bloody and lifeless, and wouldn’t wake up. Marilyn just wanted to have good dreams again. To be able to breath again without a pressure in her chest, because she felt like something was sitting on it and no matter what, it wouldn’t get off. There were days where the pressure was too much, and she got sick. Mrs. Marks was nice and didn’t mind cleaning up the acidic contents of Marilyn’s stomach, nor did she mind nursing her back to health.

They were nice, but she was scared to stay. She didn’t want to be anyone else's’ child but Mama’s. On the other hand, she didn’t want to be cast off to a girls’ home and become a nobody. That’s what happened to girls’ who didn’t have parents, they became unloved and nobodies. Mama was one of those girls when her parent’s had died. Mama had to go live with her Aunt and Uncle, who have since passed. Marilyn briefly entertained the thought of them adopting her, but from what Mama said, they didn’t seem too keen to adopt Mama so surely they wouldn’t be pleased to adopt her daughter. Marilyn had no family, other than Papa, and that was _if_ he was alive.

She wondered what he would say or feel if he knew what happened to Mama. Mama never talked about him, and ended the conversation on Papa before it began. It was not a topic that was allowed to be brought up, and after three separate spankings, Marilyn gave up asking about him. _Poor Papa._ It was at this time, she wondered what he would do if he knew that Marilyn was now all alone. _Would he take me with him to his kingdom?_ She hoped the answer would be yes, but for now she was content with not ever finding out. If Papa didn’t want her, then she didn’t think she’d ever be happy again. No, the Papa she loved was still in Mama’s bedroom and was waiting for her to come back to him.


	4. The Funeral of Patience Winslow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of Patience's story and the beginning of Marilyn's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.

There were lawyers, lots of lawyers, and social workers during the week of the funeral. Marilyn was sure that as soon as Mama was in the ground, the Marks’ would try to adopt her. To make her _their_ daughter and quickly cover up any memory that Marilyn was the daughter of the unlikeable spinster, Patience Winslow. Their desperation for a child was becoming more and more apparent. Even the well-built walls couldn’t completely muffle the sounds between the social workers, lawyers, and the Marks’.

Apparently, there were “complications” that were slowing down the adoption process. Lost papers, postponed court dates, and the identity and location of her father. The last part was surprising and almost distracted her from the heavy numbness that came with the anticipation of Mama’s funeral. _Almost._ She’d bury Mama tomorrow in front of their congregation who would come to impress the Pastor and his growing family.

 _I’m not_ ** _their_** _daughter._ As nice as they were, she refused to give in. Mama wouldn’t be happy if she did, and well, Mama deserved to be eternally happy now that she was in heaven. A part of her was bitter that Mama was excused of her misery while she was left to suffer in hers. In a limbo, if you will.

Marilyn busied herself playing with her dolls. The Pastor had brought back Papa, which she was grateful for. She said thank you and everything! Papa and Mama lived in a nice mansion and were happily married with their little girl. They were a King and Queen, and Marilyn was their princess. Their life was peaceful as opposed to the chaos going on outside in the real world. Mrs. Marks could be heard gently sobbing in distress, which meant the Pastor was most likely giving his “Damn you to hell” glare to whoever made her cry.

Mr. and Mrs. Marks _did_ love each other, and that was something Marilyn could appreciate. She imagined Mama and Papa were the same way a long time ago. She tried to ignore the disturbance, but it seemed at that point the lawyers and the Marks’ decided to make their dramatic exit from the study. The Marks’ moved to pass the living room, ready to lead the others out when one of the lawyers stared at her. He stared at her with a disturbed look that hid the familiarity he saw in her face. “Are you Marilyn?” he asked.

She studied him as he studied her. He was older than the Pastor. He looked tired in his posture and in his face. His hazel eyes that should’ve been warm like Mrs. Marks were dull and drooped at the edges, which were cradled by crows feet. _Mama always complained about crows feet_. The man’s hair, which once must’ve been a handsome black had now gone entirely grey and there were bald patches that were fortunately in places that could be hidden by a hat. The man was a smart dresser and was particularly well-groomed. She would’ve called him handsome like her doll, with his long nose and sharp chin, but he was too old in both body and spirit.

Marilyn realized that she was silent for too long, so she just nodded. It was too awkward to speak now. His eyes wavered and his mouth gaped a bit, “You look like hi-,” he began but never finished his sentence when Mr. Marks cut him off.

“Good day Mr. Sawyer. You may see yourself out now.” the Pastor said in an unfamiliar sharp tone.

Mrs. Marks strode over to the living room and pulled Marilyn up into her arms against her will. She let out an indignant cry as Mrs. Marks carried her out of the room, in a protective manner. The man, called Mr. Sawyer, glanced back at her before the door shut harshly in his face. She looked at Mrs. Marks with a curious face, who seemed to be in much more need of a hug than Marilyn did. Deciding to be generous, Marilyn wrapped her arms around Mrs. Marks' neck in a gesture that immediately cured Mrs. Marks of her distress. Mrs. Marks buried her face into the child’s shoulder and hugged her tighter, fearing that she’d disappear if she let her go.

The Pastor came in, and for once in his life, he demonstrated a fierce and fiery protectiveness that was unusual in a typically docile man. He smoothed back his sandy blonde hair and strode over to his wife and whom he now considered his daughter, Marilyn. Marilyn felt brave enough to peek at the Pastor who had put his firm but guiding hand on his wife’s shoulder. Marilyn was gently let down as she looked at the pair of them, having a silent conversation with their eyes. There was worry in them, in a way that could not be comforted by a Bible or prayer, but there was no way she’d say that aloud. Instead, she chose to ask, “Who was that man?”

“A lawyer,” Mrs. Marks said with distaste.

“Oh,” she said confused, “What does he want?”

The Pastor’s eyes hardened with steely resolve as he gazed into the skeptical hazel eyes of his wife, “It what his _client_ wants, but it doesn’t matter. He won’t get it.”

Marilyn hated half-answers, but she decided not to push it further. Mrs. Marks nodded and then smiled gently down at Marilyn as if nothing had happened. “Why don’t we go to the park today? Would you like that dear?”

Mr. Marks smiled, “Oh that’s a lovely idea. We can have a picnic as well!”

Marilyn really was in no mood for a picnic at the park. _Mama is being buried tomorrow. It feels wrong._ It probably was,but she sensed it was more for them than it was for her. With a deep uneasiness, she thought that t _here’s no harm in being grateful. They're keeping you from staying in a girls' home._ She nodded and did her best to feign interest and excitement by masking her face with a smile. After all, there’s nothing wrong with keeping up appearances.

***

The park was quite fun! It was the perfect balance of warm and cool. The sun pet her face with a gentleness that matched Mrs. Marks’ touch and the wind whispered through the trees that allowed her to swing quite well on the swing set. _Okay, Mrs. Marks pushed me but half of it was the tree!_ She liked to pretend that the trees could hear her and she could control them with her mind. Marilyn smiled every time the wind-bent a branch,as she imagined she was using her secret power.

Only when her foster parents signaled that it was time to go home did she feel the pain return to her chest. _Mama’s going to be gone forever tomorrow. I’ll have to see all of those people lie and pretend that they liked her when all they did was tell lies about her the minute her back was turned._ Her thoughts drew her into a deep exhaustion and weariness, but no matter how tired she was, her mind wouldn’t let her sleep. It was the tiny thoughts that kept her up, like tiny bats flying around in a dark cave. _I hate this, I hate this._ Her bitterness was rising at the uncomfortable feeling in her chest. _I just want this to be over. Why can’t it be over?_ Tears slipped out of her eyes and onto her pillows, soaking them with her sadness and despair.

By the time the sun rose, she had shed every tear she had left.

***

The morning was a blur. Mrs. Marks’ helped her dress, as Marilyn was too numb to do it herself. She felt like her barbies, who were stiff as their clothes were stripped off of them in favor of wearing newer and more colorful ones. Well, that’s on the occasion that Marilyn remembered to redress them, and she was thankful that Mrs. Mark gave her the consideration that she didn’t give to her dolls. Her hair was pulled into a tight, but not uncomfortable bun that still let her bouncy curls frame her face. She was dressed in a black satin dress, that’s skirt flared out at the hips. Marilyn looked morose but pretty. Of course, the one time she could actually be considered the “best dresser” had to be at Mama’s funeral.

The funeral of Patience Winslow had been brief, or if it had been long at all, Marilyn couldn’t tell. It was all happening too quickly. They chose to forgo a viewing, because, well there wasn't much left of Mama's pretty face to view. _Mama had a really pretty face._ They were burying Mama too quickly and though she wanted to bury her face in Mrs. Mark’s side, she kept her eyes on the coffin as it was being lowered six feet into the ground. This was the last time she’d see Mama, and damn herself if she wouldn’t keep her in her eyesight as long as she could. _Don’t go, Mama, please don’t go._ Her eyes watered, but she shed no tears. Marilyn _really_ tried, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. _You’re supposed to wail and scream when you’re at someone’s funeral._

Marilyn couldn’t bring herself to push the tears out. The Pastor administered the sermon for Mama, not that she listened to it. She did her best to tune everything out, everything that was mocking this sad and godawful day. The birds were chirping. _Those bastards._ The sun was shining. _Screw the sun._ It was offensive that this day should be so beautiful when it was so sad for her and Mama.

Mrs. Marks’ said maybe it was a sign that Mama was with them in spirit and letting them know she’s okay, but Mrs. Marks’ didn’t lie that well. Everyone already made it abundantly clear that they thought Mama was going to hell and eternally suffer for her sin. Marilyn wasn’t quite so sure what that sin was, but she didn’t bother to ask. Ignorance is bliss. _Mama’s in heaven…with grandpa and grandma._

As Mama was finally laid to rest, Marilyn was ushered forward to drop dirt and a rose on the coffin. She stared into the grave, holding the slipping dirt in her hand, as she tried hard to contain herself to not throw herself down there with Mama. _I want you, Mama. I want you back._ Her body shook and she heaved dry sobs, as she let the rose fall down to Mama with the first handful of dirt that would cover Mama forever.

“The poor dear,” whispered an attendee.

After it was done, Mr. Marks gently guided her away from the open grave as the other churchgoers dropped dirt into it. It was clear to Marilyn they did it just for the show and to be in the high praise of their pastor. _I hate them. All of them. And they’re coming over now too._ All Marilyn wanted was to go back to the house, throw herself on her bed, and escape the sorrow in her body. _No no, that’s_ ** _not_** _how things are done. Mama wouldn’t have wanted a party though, not from people she didn’t like._

Mrs. Marks picked her up, and for once Marilyn was content to let her do so. As they traveled back to the car, she saw the lawyer from yesterday step out behind a tree and walk over to Mama’s grave. His back was turned, so she couldn’t see his expression. _Did he know Mama? Would he miss her? Is that man my…?_ Her thoughts trailed off as he grew smaller and smaller the further they walked away. Away from Mama. _Mama was gone_.

***

She wanted to hide from people, especially the fishwives. _“We’re so sorry”, “You’re so brave”, and “She loved you very much,”_ were some of the repeated and in-genuine condolences the attendees offered her. The two-hour reception felt like an eternity, and well _why did she have to suffer? Hadn’t she and Mama suffered enough?_ Apparently, the answer was no.

Marilyn spent most of her time avoiding guests but never hiding. Anytime someone tried to talk with her, she gave them short polite - _as polite as anyone can be-_ answers to their questions, even though she really wanted to shout and snap at them. The only thing really getting her through it was Papa, who she talked to within her head. _"Gossip is a peasant's activity," Papa said._

_"Then everyone here is for sure. **Especially** Mrs. Carter," she replied with narrowed eyes and a pout._

_"Shall I throw her in our dungeon for you, my dear?" he asked._

_It really was a delightful thought, especially when she spoke so meanly of Mama. "She's being mean...telling lies about the queen. About Mama..."_

She imagined her Papa wrapping his arms around her, whispering comforting words in her ear. " _I know you miss her. I do too. She was a good woman." he said_ as she mimicked him kissing her gently by discreetly touching foreheads with the doll, " _I miss both of you._ "

A small pool of tears ran down her cheeks, " _Then why aren't you here?"_

Papa didn't answer. _Plastic can't answer._ Marilyn looked at the doll, _don't you want to see me? I'd give anything to see you..._ _anything to see you **and**_ _Mama._ She suspected that Papa **did** want her. After all, who else would compete with the Marks' for custody? She liked the Marks, _really I do! But they're not Mama and Papa._ Marilyn didn't want to live with people Mama didn't like and who didn't like Mama, _no matter how **nice** they are to me. It's the principle of the thing. _She didn't know exactly what that meant, but Mama and the Pastor said it a lot!

If Papa came tomorrow and said he wanted her, then she’d go. She’d leave with the man her Mama loved so much that she couldn’t bear to talk about. _Because you have to love the person you have a baby with_. The pastor had said it in his sermon when he was congratulating an expecting couple. Mama didn’t like a lot of people, so when she did, it was a big deal. Marilyn looked at her Papa and felt her heart clench, “Please don’t leave me until I’m sixteen,” she whispered, as more tears slid down her porcelain skin, “Not like Sleeping Beauty.”

No one saw her tears nor did they hear her pleading whispers. She was left alone, and suddenly the solitude that she had so desired before seemed to be the most painful part of the day.

***

The guests’ finally, albeit slowly, left. She never understood why they came and had to be such an inconvenience to her and the Marks’. They all said goodbye, but that goodbye led to another conversation that lasted an eternity, and then they said goodbye all over again. She considered it very rude to not leave a party immediately after saying goodbye. It also seemed odd to her that they had to serve them when it was _she_ who was in mourning. _They didn’t know Mama._

If this was supposed to bring her peace or “closure”, which was the big word Mrs. Marks said, then she certainly didn’t get it. If anything, it plunged her into more misery at the eternal goodbye to Mama, leaving a hole in her heart as wide and as deep as the grave they buried Mama in. She held her Papa tighter, the only material piece her mother left her. She wanted a piece of Mama. Something of hers that she could pass down to her own child, so her name and memory would never be forgotten. In the movies, when a parent died, they always left something for their child to remember them by. Marilyn hoped for something like a locket, a comb, earrings, or anything, but Mama left nothing. Mama wasn’t sentimental and didn’t place a lot of value on attaching herself to material possessions, and for a while, Marilyn admired that, until now.

 _I can name my daughter Patience,_ but then there would be the inevitability that Mama’s name and person would be forgotten in favor of her daughter’s own identity. _You have her eyes. Shouldn’t that be enough?_ Marilyn swung her legs on the couch and lay her head against the armrest. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but it would do for now. Her face became peaceful as her eyelashes began to flutter like a butterfly’s, readying her to drift off into a deep slumber like Sleeping Beauty. Then she heard the chime of the doorbell. “Marilyn! Will you get that?”

She furrowed her brow and tightened her mouth in annoyance. With a little huff, she swung her legs over and grouchily stomped to open the front door. _People really are incredibly rude._ Marilyn twisted the doorknob and opened the door to an orange sunset that would’ve burned her eyes if it hadn’t been blocked out by a figure in its shadow. “Good evening, Marilyn,” said Mr. Charles Sawyer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written around nine chapters so far, so that's why there is a stream of content but I'm posting it slowly just so I can edit properly. Out of all the chapters, I've written this was the hardest but is so far my favorite. There's some bonus content if you're interested in reading it that's on my side blog: https://auroras-blend.tumblr.com 
> 
> Thank you all for your support!


	5. What Makes a Home?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn reflects on what makes a family and a home.

She narrowed her eyes, the first part out of skepticism and the second part to adjust to the lighting. “What do you want?” she asked in a clipped tone.

 _He was the man who made Mrs. Marks sad, and you’d have to be a very bad person to do that_. “Have you forgotten your manners, Marilyn?” called Mrs. Marks who had heard the conversation but had not recognized the voice nor saw its face.

Marilyn continued to stare grumpily at the man as she felt Mrs. Marks come behind her, and only turned to her when she heard her let out a small gasp. “What…Mr. Sawyer this is completely inappropriate. To drop by, on the day of _her_ funeral, completely unannounced?! Have you no shame?”

The Pastor arrived barely a second after, and protectively pulled Marilyn behind him. What he was protecting her from, Marilyn didn’t know but her shameless curiosity made her stay. “I do actually, but now is not one of those times,” he said in a tired voice.

“Mr. Sawyer, you are not allowed to speak with us without our lawyer present. If you want to-,” Mr. Marks began before Sawyer cut him off.

 _He’s rude and I hate him._ Marilyn frowned, she knew better than to interrupt. _An adult should too_. “I’ve only come to deliver this,” he said as he held out an envelope that Mrs. Marks quickly grabbed, “You’re expected in front of the judge tomorrow for the final hearing.”

“I don’t remember there being a first hearing,” Marilyn said indignantly before tilting her head and curiously asked, “What’s a hearing?”

The adults ignored her and she huffed, crossing her arms. “He’ll decide the outcome of the petition for custody, and after that, I’ll either take her with me or she’ll stay with you,” Mr. Sawyer finished.

The Marks’ eyes scanned the documents. _They’re talking about me, and they’re acting like I’m not even here._ “Why would I ever want to go anywhere with you?” she cried indignantly, pouting her lower lip in a way that was supposed to be menacing but came across as adorable.

Sawyer looked down at her as if he had forgotten she was there. “Because your father wants you.”

Marilyn gaped like a fish for a moment before stuttering out her continuously rehearsed response, “I-I don’t have a Papa.”

“Of course you do,” Mr. Sawyer said in a tired tone, “And he wants to raise you.”

 _I have a Papa? He, he_ ** _wants_** _me? How long has he known? God_ ** _really_** _was listening! When can I-,_ her thoughts were broken by the pastor’s voice that was so sharp it was scandalous. “Enough. You have **no** right to talk to her, nor does he have any right to raise her!”

Mr. Sawyer smirked, “Well, I believe that is for the judge to decide.”

Mr. Sawyer tipped his hat and walked away, ignoring the piercing death glare of Woodbury Drive’s most religiously righteous man. The door closed with a slam, making Marilyn jump. She stood stunned. _My dreams are coming true. I knew he cared about me! I’m going to go and move in with him. We’ll live in his castle, and…oh God…does he know about Mama? Does he know about his Queen?_ She heard Mrs. Marks let out a shaky breath, “Marilyn, please go and put the rest of the dishes in the sink. After that, you can play with your toys until bedtime.”

She ignored the order. “What…what does he mean my Papa wants me?” she asked trying to keep the eagerness out of her voice.

The Pastor looked down at her, “A man, who _claims_ to be your father, is trying to adopt you. But this man, he’s not-,”

“Jonathan.” his wife said sharply, giving him a glare that told him to not finish that sentence.

“What did he mean by a ‘final hearing’? What’s a hearing?” she asked curiously.

 _This is_ ** _my_** _Papa who wants me, and they were keeping him a secret! I deserve some damn- whoops, sorry God!- answers._ Marilyn planted her feet on the ground and looked up at them with her most serious face. “Sweetheart, I asked you to go do-,” Mrs. Marks began before Marilyn cut her off.

“This is about me too! I deserve to know!” she said in a volume that bordered on shouting.

Mr. Marks looked from Marilyn towards his wife, and as usual, conversed with their eyes. It seemed Mrs. Marks submitted to his decision because she avoided his gaze when he started talking, “First things first, do not,” he emphasized the not, “raise your voice at Mrs. Marks. She’s just doing what’s best for you and you must always remember that it is your place to honor and obey the adults around you. Is that understood?”

The Pastor didn’t look as friendly. His sandy blonde hair had fallen into his face, and his brown eyes turned from a warm chocolate color to a shade as black as coal. Marilyn nodded nervously. “Please apologize to her,” he said with a stern tone.

Marilyn turned towards Mrs. Marks and saw the hurt on her face. Her heart sunk deep into her stomach. This woman had cared for her with such a tender, gentle, and warm fondness that was so unfamiliar to Marilyn. _I’m not even her own child. And she rubs my back, nurses me when I’m sick, and takes me to the park and out for ice cream._ “I’m sorry,” she started before remembering to add, “for shouting at you. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

Mrs. Marks smiled at her, and gently rubbed Marilyn’s cheek, “I know. I forgive you, sweetie.”

Marilyn leaned into her touch, her soft green eyes checking her Mama’s… _Mama. I just thought of Mrs. Marks as Mama._ Marilyn quickly retracted her cheek away from Mrs. Marks’ palm as if she had been pressed to a hot fiery stove. _No, no, no! I’m sorry God! I’m sorry Mama! Mama, I’m so sorry!_ Tears beaded her eyes. _On the day of her funeral too! Mommy, I’m so so sorry!_ “Marilyn?” Mrs. Marks kneeled down, “Sweetie, you’re forgiven. It’s alright now.”

She placed her hands around her shoulders, but Marilyn yanked herself away. She began to rub her eyes, “I’m a bad daughter!”

“No Marilyn. You’re a wonderful daughter,” the Pastor said, “You made a mistake, but all humans do. It doesn’t make them bad people. And it certainly doesn’t make you a bad daughter.”

 _Shut up. I’m talking about my_ ** _real_** _Mommy! Not…not…what do I call her? Mrs. Marks. It doesn’t feel right…_ Mrs. Marks picked her up, which Marilyn did not like and struggled, but she wasn’t put down. “You’ve been so brave and strong today. I’ve never seen a braver seven-year-old. You can rest now. You’ve done enough for today.” Mrs. Marks whispered in her hair.

“Stop!” Marilyn cried, “Stop trying to be my Mommy! I have-,”

 _No you don’t. She’s dead. You just buried her today, you moron._ Her cries turned into wails, and finally all the grief she tried to pour out at the funeral, but couldn’t muster, was set free like a strong wave. Whatever the Marks’ were saying to her, she didn’t hear. All she knew was that she was being rocked and pressed into Mrs. Marks’ body. She felt herself relaxing into it, before another thought occurred to her: _Mama_ ** _never_** _did this! You can’t let them!_ “Lemme go! Lemme go! Put me down!” she yelled into Mrs. Marks' shoulder, the screams being muffled by the fabric.

 _I’m not their baby!_ Mrs. Marks quickly, but gently, put her down. “Marilyn, dear what’s wrong?” Pastor Marks asked in a frightened voice.

The couple had no idea how to comfort the inconsolable child. _I want Papa. Mama would want me to be with him, instead of having the Marks’ trying to replace her._ She looked around and ran into the living room for Papa. When her small hands wrapped around the doll, she remembered her question from earlier. “Why are you trying to keep me from him?! He’s **my** Papa!” she cried, “And he wants me!”

The Marks’ had just entered the living room, and Mr. Marks wasted no time in guiding her to the couch. She let him. When she was seated next to him, he began “I need you to calm down. Can you do that for me?”

Mrs. Marks sat on the other side of Marilyn and began rubbing soothing circles on her back. “Please stop,” she pleaded.

She didn’t want to be touched by anyone right now. Mrs. Marks stopped and when she was sure she wouldn’t try it again, she was able to relax. Marilyn clung her Papa close to her chest as her breathing evened out enough to listen to the Pastor. “Marilyn,” he said seriously as waited for her soft green eyes to meet his, and sighed “For the past week, we’ve been meeting with our lawyers and a judge at the courthouse.”

“When?” she asked.

It didn’t really seem important, but she wanted to know anyway. “Remember when we’d have you stay with Ms. Parker for a few hours?” Mrs. Marks asked, and nodded at the Pastor to continue when Marilyn had given a sign that she understood.

“We want to adopt you Marilyn, and make you a permanent part of our family.” Mr. Marks said bluntly.

Marilyn blinked. She knew that’s what they wanted, and what they were planning. They weren’t good at hiding that secret. Marilyn bit her lip and looked to the side, “Mama…Mama is my family.” she said weakly.

Her voice was starting to hurt. Mrs. Marks' voice was soft, “Yes she is, and that will never change. But we want to be your family too. We’ll show you how much we love you and care for you. Does that sound nice?”

 _Does that sound nice?_ She stared at the bouquet of flowers that were left for her Mama. _I don’t see how flowers are a nice gift. It’s a gift you have to take care of, and it’s really hard. Mama never liked flowers. The smell of them made her sick, which was unfortunate because I love to make bouquets…I…oh yes the question,_ “I guess, but…what about my Papa? Doesn’t he want me?”

The Pastor sucked in a breath and looked thoughtful. He always had answers ready, except for now. _Of course._ “He does. He really wants you, but we don’t think he’s in the best position to take care of you. You deserve the best Marilyn.”

“But Mama loved him! She’d want me to be with him! No matter what.” Marilyn said firmly with the Pastor’s resolve when quoting scripture.

The Pastor and his wife looked at each other sadly, with pity. _Don’t look like that!_ She was about to stomp her foot with fiery authority when the Pastor looked at her and spoke with hesitation, “Marilyn, there is a small chance you’ll be able to see him. It’s very unlikely he will get custody.”

“Why can’t I see him? Why won’t you take me?” she demanded.

“Darling, your Papa lives very far away. It’s not an easy trip to make,” Mrs. Marks said softly, brushing a stray curl out of her face.

 _In a far off kingdom…away from here. Away from the memory of…_ “No, you just want me all to yourselves!”

The Pastor swiftly pulled her across his lap and delivered five hard smacks on her bottom, “What did I tell you about raising your voice at Mrs. Marks?”

The sharp pain caused tears to fall from her face. She’d been spanked before, more times than she could count in fact, but it was still humiliating. _You know you deserve it._ Marilyn whimpered, “I’m sorry Mrs. Marks.”

The woman immediately forgave her. _Mrs. Marks is super nice. Nicer to me than I deserve_. Part of her was pained by how much she hurt the woman because this woman hadn’t one bad bone in her body. Marilyn looked into her eyes, _she has really pretty eyes. She wants to love me…I think she really does._ Mrs. Marks wiped the tears from the child’s cheeks, “The court only wanted to see the adults. Tomorrow, they’ll want you to come and answer some questions. It’ll all be okay.”

Mrs. Marks still gently cupped Marilyn’s face whose soft green eyes looked at her with fear. According to every movie she had seen, the lawyers were always super mean when asking questions _._ She didn’t like watching those movies and shows, nor did Mama. It was one of the few things they could agree on. Still seeing the terror on her face, the woman smiled “We’ll be right there. We won’t let anyone hurt you.”

 _Adults don’t always keep their promises though. Like when Mr. Morgan promised us a class party or when Mama said I could stay up an hour later._ But she didn’t bring it up. Marilyn bit her lip, “Why tomorrow? I thought these things took a long long long time.”

She didn’t want to brag (of course she did), but her report on their courthouse field trip got a gold star, thank you very much! _Mama even smiled_ , she thought proudly. Marilyn had decided that that was enough reason in and of itself to put it on the fridge, and she did! Their class talked to a judge who said he was a very busy person, doing adult things, and cases could take weeks, or even _months_ , to finish. This is why it was odd that in the span of two weeks since Mama passed, that there was already a “final hearing” about who’d she live with.

Pastor Marks grimaced, his lips almost disappearing, “Things are happening faster than we’d expect them to.”

“It’s unusual…I’d hardly call it a coincidence…” Mrs. Marks said as the Pastor eyed her with frustration.

“Emilie,” he hissed before turning back to Marilyn, “In any case, we’ll have an answer after the hearing. The judge will take the time to decide and call us back.”

Marilyn didn’t understand any of this. Her Papa was _alive_ , and he _wanted_ her. No matter where he lived, there should’ve been no reason why he couldn’t take her immediately! It didn’t make sense to her to place her with people who weren’t her family. _I thought they wanted to keep families together._

 _But families are a Mama, a Papa, and a kid. I only have a Papa now, so…are we still a family? The Marks want to be a Mama and a Papa, but they need a kid…they want to be a family._ She’d always wanted two parents. Mama tried, as well as she could, but she was still alone. _Even your doll is alone_. _Like me._

 _I’m all alone…she left me all alone._ She glowered. _She could’ve told Daddy to pick me up instead of leaving me all by myself. I could be with him right now._ “Marilyn, sweetheart, look at me,” Mrs. Marks said, breaking her out of her trance, “I know you want to be with him, but I don’t want you to be disappointed if it doesn’t happen. I want you to be happy. So so happy, and I know it seems impossible right now, but please know that you do have people who love you. We love you so much.”

“We want to give you a home,” Mr. Marks said.

 _Home._ Was home Sycamore Drive? _It’s not the same without Mama._ Could it be Papa’s castle? _I don’t live there yet._ The Marks' had a nice house. Marilyn couldn’t complain about it; _it’s clean, bright, warm, and smells nice_. Mama kept the house cold to save money on a heater, and the blinds were dusty from never being opened since she much preferred her privacy. Sometimes there’d be ants because of the food that had crusted to the plate when they had ignored it for too long. Shoes were scattered and newspapers laid carelessly around them, and one particular newspaper had been from as far back as two years ago and it wasn’t even about their own town or state.

Still, it was home. It was where she went at the end of the day and knew someone was waiting for her. Now no one was waiting for her at the peeling house on Sycamore Drive. It was abandoned like she was. _They’ll wait for you to get home. The Marks’ want you._ The warm thought was interrupted, _But so does your Papa._

Marilyn turned her eyes to the couple, holding an undeniable vulnerability. _If I say no, and then I don’t get put with daddy, then I’ll go to a girls’ home._ It was the most reasonable conclusion after all. _Why would they want me after I said no? After I was ungrateful?_ She loved Mrs. Marks' eyes, they were so genuinely honest and kind. Mrs. Marks just wanted to love her. _Love me_.

She wouldn’t say yes out loud. She couldn’t. Instead, she opted to press her face into Mrs. Marks and wrap her small arms around the woman, sinking into her warmth. She smelled like vanilla, like comfort. She let out a small inaudible gasp, _I could’ve used that in my five senses poem about comfort!_ Mrs. Marks hugged her tightly and buried her face in her blonde curls. With a soft kiss on her head, she whispered “I think it’s time to go to bed. Don’t you think?”

Marilyn gave a small nod into the woman’s chest. No one had ever held her as close as Mrs. Marks did. The thought made her so happy, and for some reason that made her start crying. She didn’t understand, because people were only supposed to cry when they were sad and she didn’t feel sad! At least, not right now. _Kinda embarrassed, but not sad._ She’s been crying a lot lately, and she really didn’t want to seem like a bawl baby four year old. _I’m seven years old for god sakes! Sorry, God…_

They didn’t ask her what was wrong, and she was grateful for that. Instead, they carried her to her room and helped her pick out her pajamas. They let her dress herself because she knew how. Mama taught her right before she started kindergarten, because “big girls dress themselves”. _No one else in my grade does it all by themselves in the morning!_ Marilyn was very proud of herself.

Marilyn was content to let Mrs. Marks rub her back as the Pastor sang a song. _I think it’s a rule that church leaders can’t sing well…_ She smiled at the thought. Her breathing began to even out as she leaned into Mrs. Marks' presence. Finally, the darkness consumed her as her tired body succumbed to exhaustion.

For that moment, everything was perfect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The custody case is the next chapter!


	6. So Much for a Happy Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn's parents never had a lot of luck at court, so why should she?

Mama said you should never celebrate your victories before they happen. Marilyn Flora Winslow had inherited green eyes and a predisposition to bad luck. Today was the day that would mark her as the undeniable daughter of Patience. She was so high on the endorphins and the idea of a fairy tale ending that she forgot today was the court date that would determine if she would stay with the Marks or go to her real Papa. If Marilyn were more perceptive, she would’ve noticed that the Marks' were inconsolably anxious.

It was 8:30 AM when they loaded themselves into the car. While Marilyn’s heart was thrumming with anticipation, the Marks were beating with anxiety. _We’ll have a happily ever after. Maybe I’ll get to be with both, and see the Marks’ at Christmas. Or maybe, see Papa at Christmas if they win._ The innocence and optimism of the youth was like raw honey, it either sweetened your tongue and soul, or it made you retch.

They arrived at the courthouse in their Sunday best and met their pudgy lawyer. Marilyn, for the first time, slipped her hand into Mrs. Marks and gave it a squeeze with a warm smile. “It’s okay. They’ll see how happy we are and say yes.”

The Marks chuckled, but they only had the faintest idea of who their opponent was. Or what he was really capable of. They lived simply, without the distractions of the media so they could use the time to commit themselves to God. If only they had heard about the case in Garland City and Patience’s role in it. If they knew the defendants, then they would know in their hearts that even if Leonardo Borghese was in Italy, he’d still find a way to get what he wanted. And what he wanted was his daughter. It was no coincidence that there had been so many roadblocks in their path to what should’ve been an easy adoption, or that the court date was so sudden. Borghese was no longer in the country, but that apparently didn’t stop him from meddling in legal affairs.

Mr. Holmes was briefing the Marks on what to expect and spoke of all the evidence that they had that they were a family fit to raise a child, as opposed to a monster like Leonardo Borghese. Not that Marilyn heard any of that. She was blissfully unaware of her father being called a monster as Marilyn had begun to entertain herself by jumping up the steps. She had been here once before, on a field trip with her class, and she simply adored the courthouse. The Pastor would’ve been amused by her behavior if it weren’t for the threat waiting for them inside, “I-I don’t think she should be in there. She shouldn’t hear about what he’s done.” he said in a concerned tone.

The church had always been hot and stuffy, but Pastor Marks had never sweat. He was comfortable and safe in church, but today in the courthouse, he didn’t have that luxury. He could barely hear what Holmes was saying, “They need to see she’s part of a happy family. Trust me, it can only help our case.”

When she looked over at the Pastor, she noticed he was frowning. "Why are you sad?" she asked softly, in a raw and innocent voice full of concern.

She never got his answer, because Mr. Holmes pulled out his pocket watch and nodded that it was time to go in. Mrs. Marks went to take Marilyn’s hand, holding it tighter than normal. Marilyn noticed the woman wasn’t looking at her, but instead at the daunting courthouse. The very location that decided life-changing, or ending, matters. It was all red brick with a large clock on the center of the building, an obnoxious reminder of when your life, happiness, or despair will begin or end. Marilyn, however, didn’t see it that way. It was a grand building, and although she couldn’t call it a _castle,_ it was close enough so she could imagine herself as a princess.

Her carefree mind wandered, imagining all of the scenarios that a princess could find herself in a place like this. She relished the clocking of her shoes on the white marble floor, polished and flawless. _The princess runs through the ballroom to her prince and dances the night away with him._ If it weren’t for Mrs. Marks' tight grip on her hand, then she would’ve done her best to live out her childish fantasies. _Maybe Mr. Marks will take me here again and dance with me._

Suddenly, all too suddenly for the Marks, they were in front of the imposing dark wood court doors. Marilyn’s mouth gaped, _then the announcers called out “Hear ye, hear ye! Princess Marilyn is here. All hail the Princess!”_

Mr. Holmes opened the great wooden doors, that revealed a dim room. The first thing Marilyn noticed was the man on his throne. He wore a black dress that she supposed kings used to wear. _He doesn’t look like a very nice King._ The Marks walked with her down the aisle, which had rows and rows of empty pews. She wrinkled her nose, it reminded her uncomfortably of the church. _I hope we don’t have to sit in them._ Just her luck, she had to sit in them. _Princesses don’t sit on pews, commoners do._ Her imagination was the only thing that kept her mind off her discomfort. Mr. Sawyer was on the other side, dressed nicely in a sharp grey suit, and wore a dark blue tie. As always, he looks handsome. _Tired, but handsome._

Marilyn trained her green eyes on him, swinging her legs back and forth as she examined the man. He seemed…confident. Her chest puffed out a bit because she won “Most Confident” for her class in their last assembly. _Mama tried to make a big deal of it,_ and at that thought, Marilyn’s mood immediately deflated like a balloon. Sometimes she felt that way, but couldn’t explain why. When Mrs. Marks’ asked her what was wrong, she’d always say “I feel like a balloon.”

Perhaps it was the air that quickly exited her lungs when she thought of Mama and what happened. _Stop._ Her eyes began to tear up at the thought of Mama, and as hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop two tiny rivers from rolling down her pinkish cheeks. Almost out of habit at this point, she buried her face into Mrs. Marks. She was pulled closer to the woman who gave her a kiss on the top of her blonde curls. Marilyn didn’t pay much attention to the beginning of the case. She heard unfamiliar phrases, such as “…inadequate time to prepare…” and “Unfit to obtain guardianship.”

It was "adult talk", and she minded her own business. Mrs. Marks seemed to have been able to predict that because she let her bring Papa and another Barbie doll to keep her occupied. It wasn’t like she’d understand what they were saying anyway. Mama always tried to talk to her about law and _interesting_ court cases, but they were never really interesting to her, and Mama could see that and eventually gave up trying to connect with her in that way. _I wish I had listened more. We could’ve had something, something worthy of a memory._ In the movies, children _always_ remembered that “One time I went fishing with dad” or “Mama and I always made cookies on a rainy day. It was our special thing.”

 _Mama and I didn’t have anything special._ Her dolls were stuck in her hands, unanimated and lifeless without her imagination and her enthusiasm. She hated being stuck in her thoughts, like a fly in a spiderweb. _I can’t get out_. There was that poem, _Spider and the Fly,_ that they read for Halloween in first-grade. She had hated it, hated thinking about it. _The Fly died because she wasn’t smart_. Before she could lose herself in her grief again, she heard her name echo through the courtroom. “Sweetheart, the judge is addressing you.” Mrs. Marks shook her gently.

She looked up with her wide green eyes that looked like emeralds in a glittering pool of unshed tears. “What?” she whispered.

“They’d like to ask you a few questions,” Mrs. Marks said and cupped her face when she saw the fear glaze over her eyes, “You’re not in trouble. It’ll be okay. Just answer honestly.”

Marilyn’s lower lip trembled, as she got out of her seat. She let the Barbie slip onto the seat, while still clutching her Papa. "Sweetie, you have to leave him here," Mrs. Marks said with a pained face.

"Why?" her voice wavered, sounding watery already.

"When you're done, I'll give him right back," she held out her hand as Marilyn reluctantly slipped Papa into her palm.

Her chest tightened again, and she felt like gagging _._ _It doesn't make sense._ Mrs. Marks brushed her cheek, "Go on. I'll hold onto him and keep him safe."

 _Who'll keep me safe?_ Marilyn nodded and pulled her shaky hands close to her. Deciding to do something with them, she smoothed out her soft baby green dress. The fabric was soft under her fingers. Her legs carried her there, but she had no recollection of making them do so. The gate separating her and the judge opened, as she was led by Mr. Holmes to a big chair after she had to swear on a Bible. _Tell the truth, blah blah blah._ The chair was smaller than the judge’s, and she tried her best to feel like a princess next to a king, but for some reason, it felt like she was in one of those bad chairs for bad people. “Can you state your name for the record?” Mr. Holmes asked in a professional tone.

“But you know my name Mr. Holmes,” she said in a confused tone, eyeing the man warily.

“Yes, but it’s just protocol,” he smiled in what appeared to be his nicest smile.

It didn’t make her feel comfortable and she didn’t know what protocol meant, but she said it anyway so she wouldn’t get in trouble. “My name is Marilyn Flora Winslow, sir.”

She saw Mr. Sawyer’s mouth tighten from his desk when she spoke her full name. _It’s not a bad name,_ she pouted. “Okay Marilyn, can you tell me how old you are and when your birthday is?"

"I'm seven years old!" she said proudly, "I'll be eight on December 6th!"

"Wow, you're a big girl!" he grinned.

"Yeah, I can get dressed all by myself. I was the only one in kindergarten who could," she bragged, "I can tie my shoes by myself too. Other kids ask me to help them."

"You're a very responsible and kind girl Marilyn. So, what grade are you in now? And do you like school?" he asked.

"I'm in second grade! I have Mr. Morgan," she said but had to think on the next part, "Um...I guess." she didn't really know how to respond to that.

"What's your favorite subject?" he asked, with a smile.

 _This isn't so bad._ "I really like lunch and recess!"

 _It's the best part of the day._ "Do you go home for lunch? Or do you stay at school?" 

"I stay at school. Mama works, so she couldn't walk me home," she said nervously, "She didn't let me walk home alone, because there are bad and scary people in the world!"

She added that to show Mama wasn't a bad parent. _She cared about me not getting kidnapped._ "That's very smart of her," he said.

Marilyn nodded and looked over at Mrs. Marks. _Can't you come over and help me?_ "Marilyn," he said, breaking her out of her silence, "I'm going to ask you some questions now about what it’s like to live with the Marks, okay?”

Marilyn nodded. She swung her white stocking covered legs nervously, her white shoes lightly thumping the wooden barrier in front of her. "Are you happy?" he asked gently.

She furrowed her eyebrows and answered bluntly. “No. My Mama just died.”

Mr. Holmes paled, and Mr. Sawyer brightened. _I said something wrong,_ she thought with an embarrassed blush. Mr. Holmes cleared his throat nervously, “Yes, yes. I am sorry to hear that.But, can you please describe your life at the Marks?”

 _I hate describing. Mr. Morgan always tells me I’m bad. “You’re not using enough adjectives, and write in complete sentences.” I’d use adjectives if I knew what they were!_ Her face scrunched up at the memory, and unknowingly and unintentionally incriminated the Marks. “Well, they…they’re nice. They let me stay with them when Mama died. They like me. I like them,” she began to explain but could tell he wanted more, “Umm…we go to the park. Mrs. Marks pushed me on the swing-set. She hugs me when I get sad.”

"How did you know the Marks prior to your stay with them?" he asked.

"Prior?" she asked.

"Before, before your stay with them. Sorry," he apologized.

Mr. Holmes must have done something wrong because she felt Mr. Sawyer smile like the Chesire cat from _Alice in Wonderland._ She didn't like that movie. It scared her. _Alice was in a seat like you are now...the Queen wanted to cut off her head..._ "Marilyn? How did you know them before?"

Once again, his question distracted her from her nervousness. "Mr. Marks is the pastor at the church Mama and I go to. I met Mrs. Marks there too because they're husband and wife. They always said goodbye to us when we were leaving after services."

Mr. Holmes nodded, "I suppose you've had the chance to get to know them well, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," she said numbly, looking over at the Pastor.

 _Please help me._ "What have you learned about them that you like?"

"Well, they have me take off my shoes when I get inside to keep dirt off the floor, which makes their house very clean. And...we pray before we eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Mrs. Marks likes vanilla ice cream with **lots** of toppings!" she said excitedly, "I don't know what type the Pastor likes, because we didn't bring him any home. But that's okay because Mrs. Marks said she'd give him a special dessert when I went to bed!"

Mr. Holmes's blotchy red face turned a bright shade of red, and she heard coughing from Mr. Sawyer who _tragically_ was choking on his water. _Good,_ she thought. Marilyn turned confused to the Marks' who looked equally as red, and for some reason embarrassed? _Ohh..._ "I already had my ice cream! She just wanted to be fair, so I wasn't left out. She just wanted to make it up to him," and when that didn't seem to help, she added, "Plus I had to go to bed so she didn't want me to have so much sugar because sugar makes you stay awake."

"That's...that's...uh, very _responsible_ of her.

Marilyn nodded confidently. _She was an adult. Of course, she is._

“And how would you feel living with them permanently?” he asked, moving past the awkwardness.

“Um…I don’t really know what that means. I know it’s a type of marker…” she said, biting her lip.

 _I hate these questions! They’re trying to make me look stupid. And I’m not._ For some reason, the adults chuckled at her response but really, she thought they were laughing at her expense. She could feel her face burn in embarrassment. “Permanent means forever. So let me rephrase, how would you feel about living with them forever?”

Marilyn made eye contact with Mr. and Mrs. Marks, “I’d like to. I mean, I won’t replace my Mama, because I love Mama but I’d like to live with them. I’ll just…I’ll just call Mrs. Marks something else instead of Mama?” she said the last part as a question, and was relieved when Mrs. Marks smiled and nodded.

“You love Mrs. Marks, don’t you?” he asked.

“I do,” she confirmed but quickly added, “But I love my real Mama too!”

She didn’t want to seem like she was throwing her real Mama away. Mama would be upset at that. “I know,” Mr. Holmes smiled, “You can love more than one person at once.”

“Uh uh! Pastor Marks says that’s…infidel…tee? And that you go to hell if you do it!” she protested.

All of the adults laughed at that. Marilyn could actually feel her cheeks redden in embarrassment, but thankfully they stopped and Mr. Holmes smiled comfortingly, “That’s only in romantic relationships my dear.”

She let out a quiet “oh” and began to chew her lip. _I want to go. I hate this._ “Is…is there more?” she asked.

“Just one more. Do you feel safe with them?” he asked.

She mindlessly answered, “Yes.”

 _I just want to be out of this chair._ “No further questions, your Honor.”

Mr. Holmes walked back to his seat. Marilyn was about to follow him before Mr. Sawyer approached her. “Miss Winslow, I’m going to ask you some questions.”

Marilyn frowned and sat back down. _I hate this._ “Okay.”

Her shy eyes looked at him from the bench, and for a split second Mr. Sawyer was haunted. Haunted from 7 years ago, when everything went to shit. When her mother was on the stand making life and death choices over his client. He messed up, that much was obvious, but it seemed cruel that it was this _little girl_ and _this case_ that would decide if he saw his next birthday. Leonardo hadn’t killed him, but he didn’t need to. Somehow, as bad as his punishment was, it would be nothing compared to what he’d face in his last moments if he lost this case.

There was very little chance of a loss though. Leonardo was still influential, even all the way from Italy. He knew the outcome of this case, it was decided when the judge was appointed. Still, it had to be convincing because he learned the hard way of counting his chickens before they hatched. But he was Charles Sawyer, in a pitiful sorry town, and just that knowledge caused him to smile. Poor kid, she never stood a chance.

***

They were finally all done, which was more than a relief to Marilyn. Mr. Sawyer asked such strange questions. The judge still had to make his decision, but they decided to postpone it until after lunch. “We don’t want her to get cranky,” Mr. Holmes said with a laugh.

She really didn’t like Mr. Holmes or Mr. Sawyer. The pastor was right, _all lawyers are awful._ The Marks’ didn’t eat much, nor did Marilyn. This whole thing was confusing and for some reason, she felt scared. The Marks’ didn’t hide their own worries very well, which fueled her own. They told her they loved her a little too much. _People say that when they say goodbye._ She thought sadly before another thought interrupted that, _Mama didn’t._

 _Why couldn’t Mama say something special if she knew what she was going to do?_ Their farewell was regular, as always, but Mama was a _little_ happier.

_“Bye Mama!” she said, kissing her on the cheek, “I hope you get it!”_

_Mama smiled, one of her rare ones, “Thank you, Marilyn,” she said, returning the kiss, “Have a good day.”_

_Mama drove away, their old car making a popping sound as she drove off into the distance._

That was it. There was nothing special about their last words to each other, except maybe her rare smile at the prospect of a new job. _I wonder if she would’ve gotten that job._ Everything was, “I wonder…” now.

With those thoughts swimming in her brain, eating her away like a shark, she decided to be brave. “I love you,” she said.

Did she mean it? She couldn’t say, but it was far better than the last words Mama and her shared. The Marks gave her a watery smile and embraced her tightly, tighter than Mama ever did.Mrs. Marks didn’t let go of her until they reached the courtroom when she inevitably had to put her down. The verdict was ready.

***

There was a social worker and a bailiff in the room, which Marilyn didn’t need an adult to tell her that that wasn’t a good sign. They all had to rise as the judge spoke for what seemed like ages. Marilyn could’ve sworn that she felt herself age into an eight-year-old right there, as her throat grew tight. _Why can’t Papa just visit me? He hasn’t even met me._

“After careful consideration,” he said, as Marilyn felt her lunch reach her throat, “I have decided to award sole physical custody into the hands of…”

Marilyn’s hearing failed, but she felt the sobs of Mrs. Marks in her shaking hand. Mr. Marks looked defeated, but unsurprised. _I know the feeling. It’s like when I tell Mr. Morgan about rat-faced Rodney but he sides with him anyways._ As her hearing restored itself, she heard the protests of Mr. Holmes and then of Mr. Sawyer thanking the judge for his time. Mr. Sawyer didn’t spare a second in signaling the social worker to fetch Marilyn. “No,” she whispered and flung herself into the Marks.

Her arms wrapped around them, constricting them like the boa at the zoo, feeling a need for their protection, and for her to protect them. It was emotional, but like Mama’s death, the rest happened so quickly that it blurred together. She was roughly taken from Mrs. Marks’ arms, as she cried out an unconscious “Mommy”, something she’d never remember saying. Poor Mrs. Marks would never recover from those last words.

The Marks’ grew smaller and smaller as she was carried down the aisle, away from what should’ve been the beginning of her happy ending. Poor Marilyn…Winslows don’t get happy endings. “HE’S A CRIMINAL!” Mr. Marks shouted furiously, and the poor Pastor didn’t know those were the last words Marilyn would ever hear from him. Not that she would ever remember them.

She would never see the Marks’ again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title was almost "Sad Story" because I'm creative at 4 in the morning.


	7. Is This How Sleeping Beauty Felt?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn makes her way to Italy.

_They promised they were coming. They promised!_ At least that’s the message the social worker passed onto her when she had been inconsolably crying the first night without the Marks’. Marilyn swung her white stocking covered legs nervously from the bench in front of the courthouse. _Mrs. Marks wouldn’t let me leave without her saying goodbye._ “I know you’re nervous sweetie, but think about how this is the next big adventure!” the social worker lady said animatedly.

She didn’t bother learning the woman’s name. _Only Mrs. Marks and the Pastor can call me sweetie,_ she huffed as she crossed her arms. “What time is it?” Marilyn asked impatiently.

“8:24 am sweetheart,” she replied, the term of endearment making Marilyn pout and narrow her eyes, “Mr. Sawyer won’t be late, don’t worry.”

“I don’t care about Mr. Sawyer! You told me the Marks’ said they’d say goodbye!” she said with a watery voice.

The last few days were awful. She was separated from the Marks’ and then was forced to pack **one** suitcase, _only one_! Then doctors’ had to check her, which was scary enough. _They never told me why._ She never liked going to the doctors, and from the few times her Mama had brought her, she’d never been alone. “Why couldn’t I stay with them until today?” she asked angrily.

“It’s against protocol sweetie,” she said calmly.

 _There was that word again_. Marilyn avoided looking at the woman. With the exception of her plump frame, the woman looked too much like Mama. She had green eyes, darker than Marilyn’s, and dark hair that was cut short and framed her face gently. The woman even wore dark clothes like Mama! _My chest hurts again._ “I want the Marks,” she said, tears strolling down her face.

Just then a shiny red car pulled in front of the courthouse, its engine muffling the sound of what she had just said. The social worker looked relieved, and smiled brightly at Marilyn “Look at that, he’s right on time!”

Marilyn stayed seated, “I don’t want to go with him.”

The woman ignored her statement as she moved forward to greet Mr. Sawyer. Marilyn didn’t follow. He wore a sharp three-piece grey suit, with a black shirt underneath. Marilyn could always appreciate that he dressed well. _His hat even matched_! It covered up his bald spots, but nothing could ever cover up how tired he looked. _I’m not looking forward to being a grown-up. Mama always looked tired, and she hadn’t even reached the age of thirty_! 

“Is she ready to go?” he asked, his hazel eyes looking at the soft green resentful ones.

“She’s all packed,” the woman said as she pulled files out of her large red adult bag, “And here’s everything else you’ll need.”

 _Mama had a bag like that._ “I’m not leaving until the Marks’ come and say goodbye!”

As if to prove her point, she clung onto the bars of the bench. _If they want me, they’ll have to rip me off._ Mr. Sawyer’s mouth went into a thin line, and his eyes looked annoyed. “I gave them the time you were leaving. If they’re not here right now, then that’s on-,”

“Mr. Sawyer, please.” the social worker begged.

The man looked from the worker to Marilyn and sighed. “We have somewhere to be, and we can’t be late. I’m sorry, but it’s time to go.”

“No!” she cried indignantly.

“Marilyn, please don’t be difficult,” the woman said tiredly.

Mr. Sawyer walked over to her and pried her off the bench with barely any effort. No matter how tightly she had held onto the bars, she was no match for the strength of a grown man. With his other hand, that held his keys and her files, he managed to grab her suitcase. “Put me down!” she shrieked, wiggling as much as she could while thumping on his chest.

The social worker made no effort to intercede on her behalf. She had seen this scene too many times before. Children who were unwilling to leave all they knew and go with a stranger. Mr. Sawyer didn’t hold her gently as the Marks’ did. _Maybe they’re the only ones who do it like that._ “Good day ma’am,” he said politely as he walked off with her.

 _Why won’t the lady help me? I don’t want to go with him!_ “Please!” she screamed.

No one helped her _._ She was carried to the shiny red car, its outward appearance creating a beautiful facade to hide its worn interior. Marilyn was carefully placed in the back, the brown worn leather cooling her heated skin. Mr. Sawyer started the engine, and soon the courthouse shrunk as they drove off, getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared like her chances to say goodbye. _I never get to say goodbye._ Tears were running down her cheeks, and soon her body let out heaving shaky sobs. Her misery distracted her from the smell of the “cancer sticks” her Mama warned her about, as well as some of the stains and scratches on the carpet and seats. As much as she’s seen, she still had a childhood innocence that Mama hadn’t denied her by telling the truth.

Mr. Sawyer didn’t say anything for a long while as they drove. The only sounds came from her loud sobs until eventually, her little body gave into exhaustion. Mr. Sawyer couldn’t help but feel relieved at the silence. The girl cried too much like her mother. Marilyn Flora, oh how Leonardo would hate that name, or perhaps he’d be amused. Either away, Charles couldn’t imagine that she’d have that name for long.

Marilyn was asleep for a good four hours, and when she woke up, she could clearly see Mr. Sawyer was disappointed that she wouldn’t be out for the entirety of the trip. Marilyn’s eyes were red and puffy, and if she hadn’t dehydrated herself by crying, she probably would have sobbed more. She stared at the back of his head angrily, boring holes in it. Marilyn was still deciding whether to scream at him for the rest of the trip or to take the high road so he’d let her drink some water and use the bathroom.

 _I can scream at him after_. “I’m thirsty,” she stated, her voice hoarse and scratchy.

“I bet you are,” he said shortly, as he kept his eyes on the road.

“And I have to use the bathroom.” she said, “Badly.”

His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror, “We’re almost to our destination. You can wait.”

“No, I can’t. I _really_ have to go,” she lied.

 _If I can get out, then I can run away and find my way back to Mr. and Mrs. Marks_. He sighed, “There’s no bathroom around here for another three miles. We’re almost to the airport. Wait.”

She huffed and crossed her arms, “Where are we going?”

“I just said, we’re going to the airport,” he stated in an annoyed tone.

“Well duh,” she said, rolling her eyes, “After that. Where are we going?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” he stated simply, not bothering to be of any real use.

Marilyn narrowed her eyes, and looked away, “Only because you don’t answer them,” she said quietly.

“Think of it as a surprise then.”

“I hate surprises,” she mumbled.

Suddenly, it came crashing back to her. Mommy’s blood on the walls, the screaming filling the silent void, and then- oh God! “Jesus, calm down!” Sawyer shouted as he heard the screams and sobs, “If it means that much, Italy! We’re going to Italy!”

Apparently, she wasn’t as dehydrated as she thought. “Mommy’s dead,” she wept miserably, “Mama died.”

Sawyer sighed. The tired sigh adults give when they’ve given up on something, “I know. I’m sorry.”

 _I’m sorry_ …she hated those two words. _Or was it three? Did it become two with a contraction?_ “ _I am” turns into “I’m”_ … _Mr. Morgan told us that…what’d he say?_ With a sniffle, and between gasps, she asked, “Why can't Papa be closer? Why can’t he just move?”

Sawyer’s hands tightened on the wheel and allowed his eyes to briefly glance at the clock. A half-hour until he could knock the kid out with NyQuil… “He lives in Italy. He can’t move here.”

“Why?” Marilyn asked again.

Sawyer rolled his eyes and stepped on the gas. Anything to get to their destination faster. “Because he can’t.” he ground out between his teeth.

“But why?” she asked again, not settling for a non-answer.

“Just ask him when you see him.” he said with finality, “He’ll explain it.”

“How far is Italy?” Marilyn asked, not really fond of the idea of traveling anywhere else with Mr. Sawyer.

“Far enough. You’ll have to take a plane there,” he said, with another half-answer.

“Why does Papa live in Italy?” she asked, biting her lip with a sinking feeling.

“Because he’s Italian,” Sawyer stated simply again.

She let out a small gasp, “Is he…he’s a Dago?”

The car lurched as Mr. Sawyer slammed on the brakes, causing the pair to lurch forward. _This is why you wear seatbelts_ , she thought dumbly, not processing the sudden stop nor the near prospect of death. Sawyer spun around, with wildness and impatience in his eyes. He pressed a finger right up to her and with an uncharacteristic growl ground out his words, “Never, say that word again. Especially, not in front of him.”

Marilyn’s tears helplessly ran down her chin and onto her clothes at Sawyer’s voice and expression. She didn’t like it when people yelled at her, or waved their fingers in her face. Mama got away with it, because well, it was her Mama. But she hated it when anyone else did it. She went silent in fear, keeping the words “Mama used to say it,” from spilling out of her mouth even though it pushed against her lips with a ferocity.

“And just so you know, you’re one too. Don’t forget that,” he hissed before turning back around and hitting the gas pedal, propelling them forward once again.

She was wet now, unable to hold her bladder from the sudden fear that accosted her. Mr. Sawyer doesn’t need to know. The rest of the ride was silent. Marilyn wouldn’t dare make Mr. Sawyer angrier than he already was, and besides, she had a lot to think about. _Why did Mama say she hated Dag…Italians if I’m part Italian? Why would she have a baby with one? Did she hate me? Mama couldn’t hate me…she loved me_ …

Marilyn was uncomfortably dry when they arrived, but she still smelled of urine. Her hope that her accident had gone unnoticed quickly vanished when Sawyer opened the door to the back seat to let her out. His nose wrinkled as she clamored out, with her Papa doll, and let out a hiss, “Goddammit.”

Mr. Sawyer sent her a glare but otherwise said nothing. _He’s still angry though. Mama could be quiet, even though she was angry_. He slammed the car door and grabbed her arm, pulling her away roughly, “Let’s go.”

 _When will we come back? When…when can I call the Marks? Or will they call me? What if Papa decides he doesn’t want me? Is he nice? ‘You are the company you keep’, and he’s friends with Mr. Sawyer…is he like him_? Marilyn sniffled, _I liked him better as my doll_.

Her veins froze over as she saw the large plane, the only one in the area. _I don’t wanna go to Italy_. Marilyn couldn’t cry anymore, not at this point. Then again, she always surprised herself. “Please,” she whispered still afraid of Sawyer, “I want to…I want to stay.”

Whether he heard her or pretended not to, he didn’t answer. The steps to the plane were large, so large that she would have had to stretch her legs if Mr. Sawyer didn’t pick her up. _Mrs. Marks picks me up nicer than he does. Do they already miss me? Is this how the fairies felt when they were going to send Sleeping Beauty back to her Mommy and Daddy? Did Sleeping Beauty miss them just as much?_

 _Why did they make it seem like Sleeping Beauty, finding her_ ** _real_** _family, would be a happy ending?_ She was gently set down when they stepped foot in the plane. The seats were a nice leather, the carpet an elegant red, and there were coolers (probably with grown-up drinks) surrounding them. As nice as it was, Marilyn could only wonder, “Where is everyone else? Are we early?”

“No. This is your father’s private plane. We’re the only ones on this flight,” he said as he ushered her to her seat and strapped her in.

“Wha…is…is Papa rich?” she asked.

 _Rich people have things, big things, all to themselves. Olivia’s parents had their own boat. Does Papa have his own boat_? “Yes,” Sawyer scoffed answering her first question, “Surprisingly.”

The last part of what he said fell on deaf ears as her heart skipped a little. _Papa’s rich. Like a King_. “Does…does he have a castle too?” she asked.

 _Is Papa really all I think he’ll be_? Marilyn sunk into her favorite fantasy. _Papa is a King who sent me away to protect me but is coming back so I can live in his palace and be a princess_. Her grip tightened on her Papa doll, _are…are my dreams coming true_? “It’s large. Not a technical castle, but close enough.” he sneered in annoyance.

Mr. Sawyer’s attitude couldn’t annoy her as she looked at her doll in amazement. _It’s…it’s almost perfect. Mama’s supposed to be here. They’re supposed to get back together_. No tears threatened to spill out. Her crying left her dehydrated, so much so that she couldn’t even wet her lips to relieve them of their discomfort and growing pain. Her desperation to quench her thirst didn’t let her argue (much) when they gave her the yucky medicine, which she had to take before the water. It didn’t take long after for her to start drifting off into a deep sleep, just like Sleeping Beauty.

***

Marilyn was so rudely awoken when they were an hour out from Italy. A nice lady attendant helped her wash since it wouldn’t do for her to smell before she met her Papa and redress. They made her wear her nice Sunday clothes, which she adamantly protested against. “It’s only for Sundays,” she said with her mother’s conviction.

That didn’t stop them from restraining her into a light green gown. It suited her eyes nicely, not that she paid attention to that sort of thing. There wasn’t much they could do for her hair that didn’t result in pigtail braids. The day’s ordeals left it like her throat, scratchy, and like little girls at parties, “It was better to go unnoticed.”

When the nice lady was done, Marilyn examined herself in the mirror. _Pretty like a princess. The daughter of a king_. She puffed out her chest proudly, confidently. She caused very little trouble, in the eyes of an adult, for the rest of the flight. Sure, Marilyn dug her nails into Sawyer and whimpered into his arms as the plane descended, but that didn’t seem to bother him too much.

Mr. Sawyer carried her out of the plane in a gentler manner than when they were going in. “It’s day…” she stated dumbly, “It should be dark out? Why isn’t it dark?”

“Time change. We’ll talk about it later,” he said the last part too quickly.

He said it in the way that adults said it but never meant it. “Why not now?” she pouted, but all she earned was a smile.

“Because now, we’re going to go and meet your Papa.”

Her pain over the loss of the Marks’ didn’t fade completely, but it did a considerable amount over the prospect of meeting her Papa. She squeezed her doll, “Where is he?” she squeaked excitedly.

Sure Sleeping Beauty had to leave her fairies, but wasn’t she also excited to meet her real Mama and Papa? _Is this how Sleeping Beauty felt_? “We’ve got to drive, in your words, to his castle. We’ll be there soon,” Mr. Sawyer said in a charming tone, far different from the one he had earlier.

An eight-hour nap can uplift anyone's mood, especially when it relieves you from annoying nagging children. Marilyn’s face fell, “Why isn’t he here?”

“He’d love to be here to meet his princess, but unfortunately he had some things to tend to before seeing you. Don’t worry though, you’ll have the rest of your lives to catch up.” he smiled as he slid her into the backseat of a car.

Her carriage, she decided to call it, was much nicer. The inside was as nice as the outside and much cozier. Marilyn’s long nap allowed her to enjoy the scenery as they drove the long drive to her father’s castle. _When I’m older, this is where I’ll find my prince_. She smiled at the thought. The rest of the drive let her escape into her fantasies, or she supposes her reality. Finally, the sight of a man standing behind a large medieval set of gates appeared to her. His size growing as they drove closer. She didn’t need to wonder who he was. Their resemblance was uncanny. Marilyn’s heart grew and pounded with excitement.

Her Papa was waiting for her.


	8. When Dreams Come True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, Marilyn finally meets her Papa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Leonardo being a not so subtle creep.

“Papa,” she whispered excitedly before shrieking, “Papa! Papa! Is that my Papa?!”

Mr. Sawyer, who had only seen the girl in the most depressing state, chuckled, “Yes that is.”

Marilyn began to bounce up and down, reaching for the door handle of the still-moving car. “Lemme out!”

“One minute!” he said firmly, stopping in front of the gates as they swung open.

Papa was far enough away so he didn’t have to back up. Mr. Sawyer, after what seemed like forever and ever, finally stopped the car. He walked around to open the car door for Marilyn, who slipped under his extended arms leaving her doll in the backseat. _She had the real thing!_ Marilyn bounced out before a hand reached out and grabbed the cuff of her dress, keeping her from going further. “It’s only polite to introduce yourselves before you hug, don’t you think?” laughed Sawyer.

Papa chuckled at his words as his eyes took in the seven-year-old. _His eyes._ They were the deepest blue Marilyn had ever seen. _There’s no shade of blue crayon that’s as dark and deep as his eyes._ Everything about him couldn’t be found in a crayon. _No yellow could match his hair, which was the same color as my own before it grew a tad darker. We have the same curls! His lips are red!_ The only comparison she could think of that could possibly, and that was a big if, match the red was the red of Prince Phillip’s coat.

Papa was beautiful. Not handsome, because that word couldn’t begin to describe someone like him. His face looked like the pictures of the Greek gods in their storybooks, angled and perfect. And his palace looked fit for a Greek god with white statues of frail women holding pots over their heads and the large view of the sea that his money afforded him. He looked like a King. He lived in a castle in a faraway place and had lots of money. And he was _her_ daddy. She didn’t need a doll or a fairytale any more, because nothing could compare to the real thing.

Papa looked at her with sheer adoration, at least that’s what she thought, that Mama never gave her. Mr. Sawyer pushed her a bit, making her stumble out of her thoughts so she could introduce herself. Suddenly, she was self-conscious. _Am I pretty enough? What if he thinks I’m ugly? Will he send me away?_ Even though she tried to tell herself that no one who looked at her the way he did would send her away, her mind wouldn’t listen to reason. Her fear was evident when she said her name, “My name is Marilyn Flora Winslow.”

It seemed odd to introduce herself that way. It was so serious. Her eyes were on the ground when she said it, which prevented her from seeing (not that she could tell at her age), the thin glimmer of annoyance and amusement that briefly flashed across her father’s eyes. _She looked up and saw that he still smiled, and as long as adults smiled, that meant they were happy. Right?_ Papa knelt down in front of her and took her hand, “Ciao _dolcezza_. Ti ho aspettato così a lungo,” he spoke softly in Italian as he kissed the back of her hand, “I’m your Papa.”

Marilyn didn’t know what he said, but it sounded so lovely. She gave him a big smile before he picked her up, causing her to shriek in surprise, as he twirled her around before encasing her in a big embrace. She didn’t like it when strangers picked her up, but this was her Papa! _So that made it okay, right?_ He gave two big kisses to her cheeks, causing her to giggle, and suddenly she buried her face into his neck. She had never trusted someone as much as she trusted him in that moment, and she just met him! _He is her king and I am his princess_!

 _I know why Mama loved him now. I love him!_ She snuggled deeper into his neck, inhaling his scent. _He smells like flowers, so sweet_. Papa smelled sweeter than anything she had ever smelled, and she could only think of how that must be a sign of good things to come. It gave her the same comfort that Mama’s hands gave her when she held them as they walked home. Her eyes grew wet, and Papa must have felt them as he pulled away to look at her with concern. “What’s wrong _dolcezza?_ Why do you cry?” he asked, his eyes raking over her as if he could find the source of her pain.

“It’s nothing,” she sniffled putting on a smile, “I’m fine.”

Her Papa frowned causing her heart to freeze. “I think you are lying _principessa,_ and you shouldn’t lie to your Papa.”

She bit her lip, and weighed her options. _You just met Papa. You can’t lie to him…but what if the truth hurts him. What if he’ll send me away?_ Her green eyes met his blue and could tell he was waiting for her answer. “I just…I want Mama here with us,” she said truthfully.

She looked away to avoid his expression, but he pulled her chin to face him. “I know. I wish I could bring her back to you, and have the happy family we’ve always dreamed of,” he said with his sweet lulling accent, “But I think we’ll have our own happy ending anyway. Don’t you?”

Marilyn, her heart still heavy, smiled, and nodded. She would never know that that was the only answer that he’d accept that day. “Splendido!” he cried with a wide grin, as he turned the pair of them to face Mr. Sawyer, “Charlie, you have made me the happiest man in Sicily! Thank you for bringing _mi principessa_ back to me.”

Marilyn thought it best to impress her Papa with her manners and added in her display of gratitude. “Thank you Mr. Sawyer!” she smiled sweetly, hiding her thinly veiled disdain.

 _Even though you were rotten to me you giant prick._ Papa gave her several more kisses before he carried her across the white stone path to the inside their home. Unfortunately, he invited Mr. Sawyer but that had seemed inevitable.

The inside of the home was _big._ It had floors made of white smooth stone that she could dance on like a princess and big wide arches that made everything appear larger and more grand. It was a lot nicer than their house on Sycamore Drive, not that she tried to compare it at this time. If she thought of Mama, she’d cry and she didn’t want to spoil this moment. _But aren’t Papa’s supposed to comfort you?_ Marilyn wasn’t given enough time, since Papa seemed insistent on filling her with as much food as possible.

“So small you are principessa,” he said as he served her a plate of eggs that he called a frittata.

In her opinion, she was given too much but she wasn’t about to complain, because Papa was a good cook. The eggs weren’t burnt and crusty; they were light and fluffy. Her mouth exploded with warmth and she consumed them as an unfamiliar comfort settled into her chest and stomach. Papa complimented her a lot, so much so that she didn’t know if she could handle it. Marilyn tried to return as many of the compliments as he served her, but she couldn’t think of enough.

There was a lot to share because she realized that she was having a conversation with her real Papa now, not a doll. Marilyn told him what grade she was in, what she liked and didn’t like in school. He seemed amused when she told him of the time that she put brown paint on rat-faced Rodney’s seat and everyone laughed at him because they thought he pooped his pants. _Mama was really mad, but it was so so funny!_

 _“_ He must’ve been very embarrassed,” Papa smiled with what she could’ve sworn was pride.

“He was! Everyone laughed,” she grinned before giving a light frown, “But then I got in trouble.”

The spanking Mr. Morgan gave her with the ruler was nothing compared to what Mama had in store. “Well it sounds like he deserved it,” he said smoothly, “And how can I fault you for standing up for yourself? Hm?”

His dark blue eyes glittered at her. For her. _For me,_ she thought warmly. _Oh yes, he would’ve_ ** _definitely_** _put Mrs. Carter in a dungeon._ She was able to tell things to Papa that she could never have told Mama, and he seemed so thoroughly amused by what her life was like and what she did. Marilyn hadn’t noticed that she had spilled almost all of her life’s secrets, while Papa had not shared any of his.

She pouted when he shifted the conversation to Mr. Sawyer where they talked about boring adult stuff. The man was handsome, but not particularly interesting. He had not regarded her very often during the meal, and when he did he had a strange look in his eyes. Mr. Sawyer and Papa did that thing adults do where they make meals longer than they need to be by talking about boring stuff. Her wish to have her daddy to herself was finally granted when Mr. Sawyer wiped his mouth with the napkin and gave his thanks for the meal.

It was only polite to walk him out, but suddenly a small, _itty bitty_ , part of her ached to see him go when she realized he was going back to America _. Without me._ Marilyn clung to his coat jacket, “Are…are you leaving me here?” she asked quietly.

He looked surprised at her question, and it took everything in his power to not answer sarcastically. “Of course, you’re with your Papa now. Where you belong.”

“But, how will I…what about America? When can we go back and visit the Marks’? And Mama’s…grave?” she asked with a pout and a waver to her voice.

_If he leaves me here, how can I visit Mama?_

There was a tenderness in Mr. Sawyer’s eyes that she could see more and more as he knelt down in front of her. “You’ll be very happy here Marilyn. Don’t worry about things like that and just enjoy your life here with your Papa,” he said, not in a commanding voice but in a pleading one.

Suddenly, she found herself wrapped in his arms as he whispered into her ear, “Be a good girl. Promise me.”

Marilyn pulled back confused. _Why wouldn’t I be?_ “I promise,” she said.

Mr. Sawyer nodded and surprised her by giving her a kiss on her cheek. He tipped his hat towards Papa and left through the big doors that closed with a chilling finality.

***

Papa took her hand, not once letting it go, as he led her on a tour of the house. There were already several rooms that she had decided she would have no interest in, but still politely oohed and awed at all of them. He told her of some rooms she wasn’t allowed in, but given how big the house was she didn’t really mind nor would she remember which ones they were. Papa was the most excited to show her her own room, and really that’s what she had been waiting for when he said he’d give her the tour. He opened a dark wood door that showered her face with light. Her mouth gaped open, as she looked around. A great crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling. It wasn’t even turned on, but it made the room shine with sparkles.

The difference between her room at home and Papa’s house was too big for her to totally grasp. At home, she lived simply, in a room with a bed, dresser, and a lamp. It was sparsely decorated and it was meant to be that way since Mama didn’t like the idea of her playing with her toys so late at night. _Not that I had a lot of toys to play with._ But _here,_ here she had a room- that could hardly be called a room since it was so grand- that was fit for a princess. _And that’s what I am,_ she thought with a smile.

It was as if she was in a really amazing dream. She had always preferred the color pink. She had disapproved greatly when Merryweather turned Aurora’s dress blue _because blue isn’t a color for a princess_! Her walls were pink with a lacy white pattern, and white borders. Her bed was a canopy bed, _exactly like Aurora’s_!

“Principessa,” Papa uttered clearly, “I asked do you like it?”

She’d hardly noticed he’d said anything at all, but she nodded enthusiastically, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She rocked back and forth much like the sculpted rocking horse in the far right corner of the room, which she’d never know was made for someone else. It didn’t matter though, because this was hers. It was all hers. All of the toys, that consisted of an alarming amount of dolls (not that she’d complain) were only for her. _I don’t have to share it with anybody!_ Papa picked her up and swung her on his hip, allowing her to wrap her arms around his neck and gaze into his twinkling blue eyes.

 _His smile is for me._ Papa showered her with terms of endearment, some she understood and others she didn’t, but she would in time. Papa carried her for the rest of the tour, which just showed her where he slept if she should need him and a few of the dozen bathrooms he had. Marilyn wouldn’t remember them tomorrow. After the tour, they had another really big meal outside where they could see a gorgeous view off the cliff. _How much does he think I can fit into my tummy without puking?_ Papa’s food left her very tired and she dozed off as he read to her from a storybook of fairy tales, _that was thankfully in English._

***

The blue skies turned pink and purple, signaling the day was ending. _Today’s like a fairy tale._ When Papa gave the decree that it was time to get ready for bed, she whined and groaned. Batting her own eyelashes, and giving her best pout she asked, no begged, to stay up later. “I want to talk more Papa! Pleaaaase!”

She leaned into him for effect, but that did nothing in her favor. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said as he stroked her dark blonde curls, “After all, we have the rest of our lives to catch up _principessa._ ”

Marilyn frowned at his answer, but he was her new Papa and she didn’t want to fight him on it. Papa led her back to her room, which had a bathroom adjoining her bed-chamber. It had white and pink lily tiles, with pink walls that had white wispy designs on them. Her mirror was taller and wider than she was, and if it weren’t for the stool, she would never have seen her reflection. Papa helped her on the stool and commanded her to brush her teeth while he fetched her nightclothes.

Roughly and sloppily, Marilyn brushed her teeth and spat out the stinging toothpaste after she not so thoroughly scrubbed her teeth. Papa was back by the time she was done, his eyes drifting to the remaining toothpaste and saliva on her chin. “Done!” she chirped, but he didn’t look impressed.

“Are you now?” he asked in a way that wasn’t asking.

Mama would use to ask a question, but that was really just giving her time to change her behavior or attitude. _Papa’s not looking at me nicely,_ and with that thought she brushed her teeth again, only stopping when he nodded at her with a look of satisfaction. “Alright, it’s time to take your bath,” he said while putting a child-size light rose nightgown on the corner.

“The plane lady already cleaned me,” she said dumbly, not too eager to take a bath right now.

 _I’d actually prefer going to bed before taking another bath._ “Yes, but you’ve had a long day.” Papa said, already going to turn on the faucet to fill the bath with warm soapy water, “And you need to clean up.”

Marilyn huffed, “Can’t I do it tomorrow?”

“No,” he said firmly as he watched the batch fill with sudsy water, “Now undress.”

Marilyn blushed, her porcelain cheeks turning a bright pink that matched her unworn nightgown, “Well, you’re still here.”

Papa turned off the faucet and turned to her, “So?”

Marilyn looked at him mortified, her mouth gaping, “Um…Mommy let me do this by myself,” she said and decided to confidently add, “I _can_ do it, ya know? I’m seven.”

“Principessa!” he said in what she interpreted as shock, “I cannot in good conscience let you be alone at your age. You could…drown.”

Papa’s mouth tightened at the last part, but Marilyn paid no attention to that. “But…I…I need privacy.”

“What for? I’m your father, am I not?” he asked in his sweet tone, the tone that made her melt and trust him.

Despite her desire to trust him, she looked away shyly and bit her lip, “Yes, but…I…I don’t think that-,”

“Principessa, do you really want to start our first argument to be over something so small?” he asked sternly, staring at her when she made eye contact with him again.

Marilyn’s heart thrummed with regret. _I…no…_ “I don’t mean to make you upset Papa,” she said in a small voice.

“Then undress and step into the bath,” he said with a smile.

She didn’t like that smile. It was the same smile Rodney had when he won at something, but this wasn’t Rodney. _It’s Papa and Papa’s smiles are good._ Marilyn followed his orders and stumbled into her bath the minute her clothes hit the floor. This didn’t satisfy him, and he insisted on bathing her himself even though she told him she could do it all on her own.

Papa told her that she shouldn’t be shy because he’s her Papa. She hummed at that and allowed him to fill the silence as he sang her a song with words she didn’t understand. _I’d be done by now_ , she thought as the water started to grow cold. She whined about that which finally persuaded Papa to wrap her in a warm towel and lift her out of the draining tub. Papa also insisted on dressing her, and when she complained that she could do that by herself too, he just smiled and said “Little princesses don’t do these things themselves. And you’re my principessa.”

Finally, Marilyn smiled. _Royalty has people dress them and do everything for them. And I’m Papa’s princess or his principessa._ She guessed quickly that principessa meant princess since the words sounded so similar to one another. By the time Papa dried and braided her dripping wet curls, she was tired and ready to sleep despite her verbal protests.

Papa carried her to her bed and tucked her in, seating himself next to her as he brushed stray drying hairs out of her face as he pulled a plush rabbit out to give her to hold. Marilyn had never been touched and held as much as she had been that day; to the point, it would be almost overwhelming if she hadn’t craved that for so long. _So this is what it’s like,_ she thought with a smile. _This is what it’s like when dreams come true._ “Don’t leave,” she yawned, her eyes feeling as if weights were pulling them down,

 _I don’t want today to end._ Papa chuckled, “I’ll tell you a story, _mi dolcezza._ ”

“What kind of story?” she asked quietly as her eyes began to shut.

“One about a princess, like you.” he said, she could hear him smile, “Once Upon a Time, a King had a beautiful daughter named _Vittoria._ She was everything to him, and they were going to be very happy together until an evil _strega_ stole Vittoria from her Papa and hid her away from him.”

Papa’s voice was becoming softer and softer, as the light around her eyes became darker and darker. Papa continued, “The evil witch had taken everything from the King and banished him from his kingdom, but the King wanted to find his daughter. His principessa.”

Marilyn began to sink into her sleep, barely hearing his tone when he told the story as her breaths evened out. “One day, the King finally found the evil strega and banished her to hell. Saving his principessa from the evil witch. He rescued Vittoria and together they went to a far off castle, a beautiful place. The princess and her papa lived peacefully and happily,” he said, the last sentence being the one Marilyn heard before she fell into a deep slumber.

 _Peacefully and happily._ It was a good note to end on, and she didn’t have to hear Papa as he finished the story, “But they promised each other that one day they’d go home, and take back their kingdom. Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there are some words the story uses in Italian that seems basic, but English is the first and only language she knows right now (with the exception of swearing that she learned from the ever so fluent Patience), so I think Leonardo would be methodical enough to use Italian words that are cognates with English words. Not for her benefit of course. So far, the Italian in this story will be simplified as she learns the language at a developmentally appropriate rate for a seven-year-old. Also...it's not a language I'm familiar with...so sorry...


	9. Vittoria

_The palace was filled with hundreds of twirling bodies as the orchestra played something tender. In the center of the ballroom, there was Papa wearing a black suit adorned with all of those things that military people wear. Marilyn didn’t know what they were called. Entwined in his white gloved hand was Mama’s small pale one, that held onto his with such a fondness that Marilyn couldn’t even compare it to the times she’s seen it in the movies. Papa delicately held Mama as he led her in a waltz._

_Mama’s shiny brown hair was pulled back, but not so tightly as to not allow a few curly tendrils to fall into her face. It wasn’t messy. It was elegant. Sapphire met emerald as Mama smiled into Papa’s eyes. She wore a dark green ballgown, that Marilyn realized matched the one she was wearing. When she looked up from examining her dress, there were Mama and Papa in the center. Both stood still and beckoned her forward to them, and Marilyn wasted no time running into their arms._

_Mama hugged her tightly, pressing Marilyn into her own breast with a ferocity that barely concealed its protectiveness. Marilyn wrapped her arms around Mama’s neck, kissing her on the cheek. “Mommy,” she whispered, burying her face into Mama’s neck._

_Mama kissed her on her blonde curls, but when Marilyn pulled back to look at Mama, she was no longer in Mama’s arms. “Mrs. Marks,” she said softly._

_No, no, no. I was in_ **_Mama’s_** _arms. “Where’s…where’s my mommy?”_

_There was no ballroom, and there was no Mama and Papa standing around her, cradling her in their embrace. Just the Marks’ living room.“Your mommy died sweetie. Remember?”_

_Marilyn began to cry, “No! My Mama was just holding me. She_ **_kissed_ ** _me! And…” she sniffled, “Where’s my Papa?!”_

_She looked around frantically, but couldn’t spot him. “I’m sorry Marilyn, but he didn’t want you. You didn’t listen to him,” said the familiar voice of Mr. Charles Sawyer._

_Where did he come from? Mr. Sawyer stared at her without a speck of emotion, “You promised me you’d be a good girl,” he shook his head, “Now look what happened.”_

_Marilyn shook her head and was suddenly standing all by herself. As she began to lose herself in her sobs, she woke up._

Marilyn’s eyes bolted open, her heart beating quickly as she tried to catch her breath in between her desperate cries. The back of her neck and lower back was wet with sweat. Her comforter had been kicked off the bed, and the only thing covering her was her floral sheets. They were twisted, trapping her in them like a spider wraps a fly. She kicked them off, letting the cool air wash over her exposed limbs to soothe them from the heat she succumbed to during her slumber. Her tears still ran down her face as she began to call out Papa’s name, “PAPA!” she screamed, before stopping quickly.

Maybe he hadn’t heard. _Please let him still be asleep. Mr. Sawyer said to be good and good girls don’t wake up their parents…but he’s my Papa…and he wants me._ Marilyn hopped out of her bed, turned on her lights, and paced around the room, trying to decide what to do. _Mama got mad when I woke her up, so, will Papa be mad too?_ Marilyn looked at her toys. As many as there were, she didn’t feel like playing with them much and she was sure none of them would bring her much comfort. Marilyn peeked through the window, _still dark. Is it dark at night or dark in the morning?_ The clock wasn’t very helpful in telling her the time, since it only had lines. _If it’s dark in the morning, it’s still night and you don’t wake people up._

Marilyn clutched the grey bunny close to her chest as she paced around her room, trying to push away the desperate urge to check that her Papa was still there and that he wanted her. “Adults don’t like it when you wake them up,” she muttered to herself as she stared down at her bunny.

 _But Papa showed me where his room was in case I needed him._ Just that thought alone gave her the courage to leave her room and find Papa’s. As she got closer to Papa’s door, her footsteps became quieter and she moved much slower until finally, she stopped in front of it. She raised her fist to knock on the door, but couldn’t find the strength to go through with it. For a while, she stood in silence before sitting down in front of his door. _Just knock. Knock on his door. He said it was okay._

 ** _But_** , _is a nightmare an emergency? Mama didn’t think so and she’d get mad. I don’t want Papa to get mad at me and get rid of me._ Her thoughts made her relive her nightmare, causing her to softly cry until she remembered the last time she stood outside a parent’s door waiting to knock and never getting an answer. Her shoulders began to shake from her heavy sobs, _Mama’s dead! What if daddy’s dead too?_

Her eyes became blurry, her senses of sight and sound betraying her to the point she couldn’t hear the door open or her Papa asking her what was the matter. She could feel him pick her up though, and found immediate comfort in his sweet floral smell. Papa was carrying her back to her room and sat down at the foot of her bed as he rocked her back and forth. Marilyn didn’t know how long he’d been rocking her, but it was definitely enough time to allow her senses to clear up. She looked away from him with bleary eyes, “I-I’m sorry.”

Papa gently grabbed her chin and turned her to face him, “Why are you sorry? What’s happened dolcezza?”

 _Papa really seems worried._ “I-I had a nightmare,” and with just that sentence, the rest came tumbling out, “Mama was gone, and then you gave me back because you didn’t want me. Then I woke up and wanted to get you, but I was afraid you’d be mad at me for waking you up and then send me away. Are, are you mad?”

Papa smiled in a gentle manner that those who _really_ knew him would call “unsettling”. “Of course not principessa! This is your home and I’m your Papa. You should always feel safe coming to me, whether it’s at 3 in the afternoon or 3 in the morning,” he replied as he brushed some of the stray curls out of her face.

Marilyn pressed herself into his chest, wrapping her arms around him. She sighed deeply, “Mama’s dead.”

It was said as more of a statement, then as an expression of grief. “I know,” was all Papa said.

“I found her. There was a lot of blood,” she said simply.

“Yes, I heard. I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said in an undecipherable tone, “Little girls’ shouldn’t have to see such things.”

They sat in silence for a little while longer, which was in her best interest. _What would I even say_? “Papa…do you miss her?” she asked, not needing to clarify who ‘her’ was.

Papa sighed, “She held a place in my life that is now gone,” but he pulled her chin up so she could face him before Marilyn could ask him to explain, “But I have you now. My perfect little dolcezza,” he smiled.

She returned her Papa’s smile. “What does that mean?” she asked as she clumsily tried to repeat the word, “Dolcezza?”

“It means ‘sweetness’, which is appropriate for my very sweet little girl,” he said as he rubbed her cheek, “In time, you’ll learn more Italian. It wouldn’t do for you to live in a country and not speak the language, hm?”

“Will…will we stay here forever? In Italy?” she asked nervously.

“We’ll see if we can make a trip to America sometime,” he said in his grown-up voice.

 _It’s a ‘we’ll see’ but that’s better than a no. I’d hate to leave Mama all alone. Mama didn’t have anyone else but me. And neither does…_ “Papa, are your parent’s dead too?”

If this question surprised or hurt him, she couldn’t tell. “Yes they are,” he said in an ‘end of conversation’ tone, “You’re my only family and I’m yours.”

 _I should say it. When people feel bad, you’re supposed to say it._ “I love you, Papa,” she said softly but not reluctantly.

He tightened his arms around her and in Italian returns her words, “Ti amo mia principessa.”

Deciding she should try it, she repeated his words to him, “Ti amo.”

Papa grinned at her efforts, “Bambina intelligente!”

Papa’s happiness made her smile. _He likes me._ Papa looked up at her clock, she assumed he could read it, “It’s nearly seven in the morning. Let’s have some breakfast, hm?”

It wasn’t really a question, since he was already leading her downstairs and into the kitchen. She thought she’d wait for him to make her breakfast, but he insisted that she help him, since it’s something ‘all girls’ must know how to do’. They made eggs. _He had a fancy name for it, but it was basically eggs_.

“Mama used to like eggs,” she said as she stirred the bowl of egg whites, “When she was happy, she always made them for breakfast.”

Papa turned to her, “I suppose you’ve inherited her taste for them?”

She giggled, “I like them when they aren’t burnt.”

Papa scoffed, “They were never burnt when I made them for her. She always said I was a good cook!”

Marilyn finished stirring and passed the bowl to Papa, “Mama wasn’t, but that was okay.” she said simply.

Papa did the rest of the cooking as he had her set the table, and then gave her a small lecture when she did it incorrectly. Whatever the rules were that he told her, she would forget about them by brunch. As she cut into her soft fluffy eggs, Papa decreed that they would always have breakfast together every morning, a decree that excited her. “No, no no principessa!” he said as he showed her how to cut her food and hold her fork, “Like this.”

Marilyn didn’t really see the point of it and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. _The food’ll go into my mouth anyway._ She followed his instructions though and found that her pace was a lot slower and more clumsy as she adjusted to the change.“This is hard,” she huffed.

“It’ll get easier with time. It’s important that you learn proper manners,” he said as he put a piece of egg into his mouth.

“I have manners! I say please and thank you,” she said with a huff.

“There is more to manners than just ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. Your tutors will show you,” he said in a dismissive tone.

Papa saw her pout, and smirked, “Princesses have to be perfect at them. Don't they?”

Marilyn smiled. Papa knew just what to say to her to make her see things in a different way. “Yes,” she responded but a look from him told her to add something, “Papa.”

“I’m glad you agree because you are my own principessa,” he said in a smooth tone as he put down his cup of coffee, “I expect great things from you, my dear.”

A heavyweight set on her shoulders. She didn’t like expectations, because that always gave room for her to disappoint people. “I’ll try,” she said, shifting her gaze to the side.

Papa cleared his throat to get her attention, “And succeed,” as she looked up at him he could tell she needed a softer tone, “You shouldn’t be worried. You’re very much like a princess already. You’re perfect in _almost_ every way.”

Papa emphasized ‘almost’, which caused her to freeze, “In what way am I not perfect?” she asked worriedly.

“Oh dolcezza, it’s nothing wrong with you. Just, just forget I said anything.”

“No! What is it?” she cried out.

 _Mr. Sawyer told me to be good. I have to fix it._ “It’s nothing too troublesome. Just, princesses typically have more…delicate names wouldn’t you say?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Marilyn stilled and furrowed her eyebrows. _Is there something wrong with my name?_ She’d never paid much attention to it before. It was just…her name. “I…I don’t know,” she shrugged, “Is…is my name not…” she bit her lip trying to remember the word, “delicate?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s fitting for a girl as beautiful, graceful, and well-mannered as you.” he said softly, “It’s certainly not fit for a princess. It’s ordinary. Plain. You’re not any of those things, are you?”

“No, but…it was my grandma’s name. Mama named me,” she said shyly.

“I see,” he said, folding his hands as he analyzed her, “I must say I envy your mother for getting to name you. I would’ve picked something different. More fitting for a delicate little girl like you.”

Marilyn’s interest piqued and looked up at him with wide curious eyes, “What would you have named me?”

Papa smiled, “Vittoria. A name fit for a princess.”

“Like the one in the story last night!” she said excitedly.

“Yes. Just like the story,” he laughed, “I love it. It’s delicate and ties you to your homeland here in Italy.”

 _Vittoria sounds pretty. Like Aurora’s name._ “What do you think of it principessa?” he asked her gently.

“I like it. It sounds pretty,” she said with a small voice.

“If you like it so much, I’ll call you that from now on. If you’d like?” he smiled, his dark blue eyes glittering.

“Like playing pretend?” she asked eagerly, unaware that wasn’t the exact answer he wanted.

Papa hmm’d, “And if you really like it, you’ll go by only Vittoria in the future.”

Marilyn smiled and nodded excitedly. _Everything is so perfect._ In her short time here, Papa has already given her three nicknames. _I shouldn’t be so happy. You’re not supposed to be happy after people die._ Before her thoughts could mar her face with a frown, Papa stood up. “I think you should try going back to sleep. You still look so tired.”

“I’m fine,” Marilyn yawned which did not help her case.

_If I go back to bed, then there’s a chance I can have nightmares again._

“Hm, well I disagree. Now come on, let’s go put you back into your bed,” he said in a matter of fact tone as he walked over to her.

He held out his hand to her, but she didn’t take it. Her voice held back a cry, “I-I don’t want to have nightmares again.”

“You won’t,” he said as he delicately slipped her hand to his.

She hopped off the seat and let him pull her towards her room. “Why can’t I stay with you?”

“I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep,” he said as he pushed her door open.

Her blankets and sheets were twisted and still laid on the ground after she kicked them off. “Are you going back to sleep?” she asked.

 _He seems nice. Nicer than Mama. Maybe he’ll let me sleep in his bed with him._ “I’m not. I still have things to do today, but I won’t leave you home alone.”

“Oh,” she said glumly as she climbed into her bed.

She watched Papa pick up her blanket and rearrange it on her bed, tucking her in underneath it. Papa arranged himself to lie down next to her, which gave Marilyn the idea to trap him. _If I put my head on his chest and fall asleep, he won’t get up because he won’t want to wake me_. Marilyn felt a sense of satisfaction when he let her rest her head on him and started stroking her blonde curls. “You have lovely hair.” he murmured as he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

Papa still smelled sweet and she allowed herself to succumb to her tiredness from her disrupted sleep and hearty breakfast. Papa whispered sweet things into her ears, and the last thing she heard him say before she passed out was, “Sleep well mia principessa. Mia _Vittoria_.”


	10. Honeymoon Phase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn's trauma resurfaces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Anxiety attacks

Marilyn enjoyed her time with Papa for the first week. Everything was so perfect. Their mornings would start off with them making and eating breakfast together. Papa was an early riser, so after breakfast, he’d get ready for the day after putting her back into bed. When she would wake up again, Papa would help her get dressed and teach her to do her hair. He seemed upset about her lack of experience, but it’s not as if Mama ever taught her!

Papa didn’t bring up Mama much, not that Marilyn minded. It’s not that she didn’t miss her or love her, it’s just easier to keep your mind off of something that makes you sad. Marilyn was in a state of bliss, and all was going well until Papa told her she’d have to start lessons with her tutors soon. He wasn’t sending her to a real school with other kids, because A) she didn’t understand the language yet and B) he didn’t think they were good enough.

Marilyn would’ve been inclined to agree if it weren’t for the fact that she’d only be spending time around other grown adults and would have no one else to play with. She argued this point with him after she woke up for the second time, “I want to go to a real school.”

“Vittoria, the places here can hardly be called schools.” Papa said tiredly, “You’re a smart girl. Why should you be put in a class with children who’d just slow you down?”

Marilyn bit her lip. She didn’t think it was quite fair, and she spoke her mind on that. “I, I just want to make some friends.”

Like Mama, Marilyn didn't really have friends back home and while Mama was content to be alone, Marilyn was not. There would be times other kids let her play with them, but that's only if they needed an extra person on the team and even then, she might not get picked. No one asked to play with her, talked with her, or invited her over to their house. She never really understood why she didn't have any friends. _I'm polite and I'm not ugly._ Mama never had an answer for her when she asked why no one wanted to play with her, nor did she have the words to comfort her when she was the only girl in her class to not be invited to her classmates' birthday parties.

This was why she so desperately wanted to go to another school and have a fresh start. Perhaps maybe, _just maybe, I'll make some friends. I live in a castle now and who wouldn't want to play in a castle?_

Papa sighed, “My decision is final.”

Marilyn looked up at him, and determined to get what she wanted, she widened her eyes and pouted her lip. _It didn’t work on Mommy, but maybe Daddy._ “Please Papa,” she pleaded.

“No.” he said sternly, the frustration in his tone shocking her out of her puppy dog pout.

Marilyn stomped her foot, “But that’s not fair!”

Papa smiled at her frustration, which only irritated her more. “You’re not acting much like a little principessa right now, are you? I thought your Mama raised you to be a good little girl. Clearly, I was wrong about her abilities to be a good mother.”

Marilyn’s face dropped as her eyes misted over. _Mama was a_ ** _good_** _mommy. I-I swore that I’d let no one say differently._ “She, she is a good mommy!” she sniffled.

“Then show me. Show me that she raised a good little girl,” he said, as he stood up from behind his desk.

Without a second of hesitation, Marilyn nodded “I’ll be good. I’ll learn from home.”

“Bene!” Papa exclaimed as he rounded his desk and picked her up, “Dolce ragazza, mi hai reso così felice!”

His happy smile cheered her up immensely, especially when he used his loving nicknames for her. Marilyn didn’t completely understand what he was saying, but she knew enough that he had said “good” and called her “sweet girl”. _It’s always better when he calls me principessa or dolce ragazza._

_***_

Things with Papa were happy and peaceful, and for the next hour, she tried to push down her feelings of disappointment and work on her artistic masterpiece. When he came by, she was biting her lip in concentration as she was busying herself coloring a scene of their palace with her and Papa standing in front of it. It was as good of a drawing as a seven-year-old could make.

"What do you have there?" he purred, smiling down at her.

She held it up to him proudly as he took it into his hands as he looked at it with a sense of satisfaction, “Sei un artista! Questo è un buon lavoro!” he exclaimed.

 _Artista sounds like artist, so he called me an artist?_ Marilyn smiled at the compliment, her eyes shining bright green. “I’m an _artista_!” she repeated.

Her guess was confirmed as Papa nodded at her reassuringly. “You’ve pronounced it well,” he said proudly, “What a beautiful drawing. We’ll keep it somewhere safe and where we can see it every day.”

Marilyn grabbed the several other drawings around her, “Can I show you more?” she asked.

Papa went and sat in his favorite chair as he beckoned her over with his widespread arms. She carried the rest of her drawings over and sat on his lap, squirming as he adjusted her to where he wanted her to be. “Tell me about them,” he said as he kissed her cheek, causing her to giggle.

“They show what we did this week!” she said happily as he stroked her hair while she held up each drawing that featured a scene of something special they did together. 

_It's excellent work if I do say so myself._ She beamed at her Papa, “I’m gonna use them to tell Pastor Marks and his wife what we did.”

She smiled at her Papa, but he wasn’t smiling back. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to speak to them ever again.”

Marilyn’s face dropped, “Why not?”

“You can’t make a phone call to anyone outside this country,” he said as he looked at her with fake sympathy.

Marilyn’s lip wobbled in distress as she tried to think of another way around this problem, “I can send them a letter, can’t I?” she asked hopefully.

Papa raised his eyebrows, “Do you know their address?”

“They live on Woodbury Drive,” she said confidently.

“Do you know their house number? Zip code? What about the city you live in?” he asked in a tone that made it seem like he expected her to not know. And she didn’t.

Marilyn shook her head sadly, and let fresh tears roll down her face. She remembered Mrs. Marks sobbing, and Mr. Marks shouting. As heartbroken as she had been, as she was, she still held out the hope that she’d talk to them again. It settled on her that her goodbye to them was permanent. _Like Mama._ “Shh, don’t cry principessa. They wouldn’t want you to be sad now, would they? Now that you’re living with your Papa?” he said soothingly.

 _But they didn’t want me to live with you. They didn’t like you. They called you a monster._ She didn't dare say it aloud and forced herself to push it out of her thoughts. _It's not true anyway..._ “Vittoria,” he said firmly, removing his hand from his cheek to grip her chin, forcing her to face him, “I’m waiting for an answer.”

“No, but I miss them,” she said.

It was clear that the add-on was not something Papa wanted to hear. “Poor thing, do you think they haven’t already sought to replace you with a child of their own? That’s why they wanted you. To replace your mother and me with themselves.”

“No Papa, that’s not true. They told me they loved me,” she said, her voice carrying a sob and sadness.

 _Mrs. Marks got me ice cream! She took care of me when I got sick and Mr. Marks found my doll_. _They took me to the park...they love me._

“No Vittoria, they didn’t,” he said like it was a fact, “They were selfish. But I’m not. I want you and I love you. I’d never seek to replace you.”

 _They told me they loved me. They wanted me to be theirs..._ Marlyn wiped hot tears from her green eyes. “They weren’t selfish! They loved me! You’re lying, Papa! You’re a liar!” she yelled and scrambled off of his knee and took off to run upstairs.

She didn’t stop running until she threw herself on her bed, and begun to sob into her pillow. _Why would he say something so horrible? They loved me!_ It was all coming back, Mrs. Marks sobbing. The Pastor yelling. Mama’s body. _Oh, God._ The pressure that settled itself like a rock in her chest made it so she couldn’t breathe. _Why don't I ever get to say goodbye?_ She was suffocating. She wanted to vomit. “PAPA!” she yelled with a choke, letting out small unrelieved gasps as she called out to him again, “PAPA!”

She was mad at him, but she was going to die! _He won’t let me die. Right?_ “PAPA!”

It seemed like a long time to her before he came in. _I'm being loud. He should hear me._ Marilyn screamed louder, gagging as she tried to get air into her lungs, "PAPA! HELP!"

 _What's taking him so long? People always come when I scream this loud._ Marilyn started to get dizzy. She felt like she was drowning and couldn't think of anything else other than _this is an awful way to die._ She felt like her heart was about to explode. With a loud final wail, she screamed her throat raw for her Papa. _Please don't let me die!_ Her vision dimmed and she started to see black spots. _If you'd have just listened to Papa...oh God..._ _I don't want this to be it!_

Papa came in barely a second after. _He's here! He doesn't hate me after all!_

“I can’t…I can’t…breathe. Papa,” she gasped, “help! I can’t-,”

Papa went to sit down on her bed and let her scramble onto the knee that she just so recently fled, and allowed herself to be hysterical. The closeness helped. He rubbed her back with small circular movements as he whispered to her instructions on how to breathe again. “Take a deep breath in, like you’re smelling a flower,” he said as her face was buried in his shirt.

“I…I can’t,” she cried.

“You can. Deep breath in,” he said as he continued to rub her back.

Her first several tries were too quick and sharp, but eventually, she managed to correctly breathe in a breath that had a hint of her father’s sweet floral cologne, “Bene. Now hold it for three seconds.”

Papa counted for her, “Uno,”

 _Uno. One._ Her lungs kept wanting her to gasp, but she held it. “Due,” he said softly.

She counted in her head, _due. Two._ “Tre,” he finished as she counted _tre_ in her head, “Now slowly let out the breath for four seconds. I’ll count.”

In her head, she started focusing on the numbers she just learned as she breathed out slowly. _Uno, due, tre_ and waited until he said the last one, “Quattro.”

 _Quattro._ They did this for another four minutes, and by the time it was over she could count to four in Italian! Not for one second, did Papa stop rubbing calming circles on her back. Her green eyes were swollen and puffy, limiting her vision and her nose was stuffy, burning, and runny at the same time. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

 _Scared. I almost died...you almost let me die alone._ Marilyn immediately chided herself. _Don't be ungrateful._ She did her best to push those bitter thoughts aside because she reasoned, her King came for her in the end. _He's here now._ _The King came to rescue his fair princess. Papa rescued me...it just felt like a long time, but it wasn't...it wasn't. He came because he loves you._

“My head hurts and I’m tired,” she said softly into his chest.

“Then you should nap. Are you still sad Vittoria?” he asked, pulling her face to look up at him.

She nodded, “I still miss them.”

Papa wasn’t pleased, “You shouldn’t miss people who wouldn’t miss you. They’re not worth your time.”

Marilyn was about to protest before Papa cut her off again, “You’re with me now. Tuo papa. I love you principessa. It makes me very sad when you are unhappy. Do you want to make your Papa sad?”

Marilyn shook her head furiously, “No Papa!”

“Because that’s what you did. You are unhappy to live with me. You want to live with them instead?”

“No! No Papa, I love you! I want to live with you. Not them!” she said in a panicked state.

“You called me a liar Vittoria. You shouldn’t say things that are untrue,” he said darkly.

This seemed to be the thing he was the angriest about, but his anger wasn’t like Mama’s. His was quiet, and somehow that was more terrifying. Marilyn squirmed on his lap as she saw his dark blue eyes lose their gentleness, “I’m sorry Papa,” she said and added more when she saw it didn’t satisfy him, “I’m really sorry I called you a liar. I love you and want to live with you.”

“I’m the only one in the world who wants and loves you principessa. Don’t forget that,” he said cooly.

Papa said the intimate sentence in such an emotionless way. As if he were reading from a newspaper and not telling his daughter he loved her.“I won’t Papa.”

“But do forget the Marks. Don’t bring them up again. Don’t think about them again. They bring nothing but bad feelings. I don’t want to be unhappy, and I will be if you are. Do you understand?”

“Yes Papa, I understand. I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice.

 _I feel like I’m saying ‘I’m sorry a lot’._ Papa smiled and seemed satisfied with her repentance. “Eccellente! Now, let’s tuck you in for a nap. That way you can have dreams as sweet as you are.”

Marilyn was too tired to protest and snuggled herself under her comforter. Papa tucked her in, “Can I see your pretty smile? Hm? Just one bel sorriso?”

She wasn’t much in the mood for smiling, but she gave him one anyway. “Bellissima!” he exclaimed.

Marilyn blushed, “You have a bell sorry-so too!”

Papa chuckled and gave her an amused look, “Bel sorriso,” he pronounced, “Go ahead. Try it.”

“Bel sorriso,” she said with the correct pronunciation.

“Bel sorriso, pretty smile. You have the best one,” he complimented, “You’re Italian is improving, mia principessa. You’ll become even better when you start working with your tutors.”

“I can count to four now!” she said proudly, “Uno, due, tre, quattro…”

 _Papa’s happy again._ Papa whispered that he was proud of her and then kissed her on her forehead. “Rest now.”

Papa got up and turned off her light, giving her one last look before he left and shut the door behind him. Suddenly she realized she was alone again, and a heavy sadness pressed onto her chest. _No, no, no. If I’m sad then he’s sad._ Marilyn pressed her mind for something to think of besides her solitude. _Bel sorriso. Pretty smile. Uno. One. Due. Two. Tre. Three. Quattro. Four. Principessa. Princess. Dolcezza. Sweetness. Dolce ragazza. Sweet girl. Eccelente. Excellent. Bellissima. Beautiful. Artista. Artist. Splendido. Splendid. Ciao. Hello. Bene. Good. Felice. Happy._

She revised every word and phrase she remembered so far. And when she ran out of words. She started again. _Bel sorriso. Pretty smile. Uno. One. Due. Two. Tre. Three. Quattro. Four…_

It didn’t take her long to drift off into a peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I love Marilyn. I swear! Also, I apologize for any Italian grammatical errors. I'm always open to feedback!


	11. The Lord's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn attends her first Catholic church service.

She shouldn’t have been surprised that she would still be expected to go to church, but she couldn’t help but be disappointed. You see, Marilyn Winslow was **not** a morning person. Never in her life would she actually elect to wake up early, **especially** on one of her days off. When she was really young, she was put into the church daycare while Mama was at services until she was deemed old enough to sit with the congregation. She remembered her first day because she realized how terrible her future Sundays would be.

The pews were hard and cramped full of people wearing their nicest, but itchiest and heaviest clothing that caused them to squirm and sweat. _And people don’t particularly smell well when they are sweating_. Then they had to sit and listen to Pastor Marks deliver his long sermon that Marilyn never really listened to and on the rare occasion that she did, she wouldn’t remember. Then there was the singing, _oh the singing._ Probably one of the worst parts of her church-going experience was hearing the Pastor sing horrendously off-key that was drowned out by the congregation who sounded like cats drowning.

Some of the words in the book were too complicated for her to read, so she just mouthed along. No one really paid attention to what she was actually doing anyway. When the seven-hour long service was over, or at least that’s what it felt like to a seven-year-old, she’d have to be squashed by people hurrying out of the pews before she could leave herself. _And then, the Pastor and Mrs. Marks just always wanted to talk with Mama. Their conversations were always very long._

 _Mama didn’t seem to particularly enjoy them._ Then while she talked to the other adults, Marilyn had to observe the disapproving and snooping eyes the fishwives gave Mama. It was overall just terrible, which is why she was hardly excited to go to church with Papa today. In fact, she dreaded it more than real church.

Papa was apparently a Catholic, which meant Marilyn had to start all over and learn a bunch of new rules in a language she did not know, and with people, she’d never met. _It really is scary, but I’d never say that to Papa_. Papa was so excited and had told her that he couldn’t wait to show her off at church, _which is why he woke me up an hour earlier than I needed to be up to get me ready!_ Mama had been content to put her hair in pigtails with bows, but that wasn’t enough for Papa. He’d spent forever (forty-five minutes) wrapping soft pink ribbons around her bouncy blonde curls!

Of course she’d complained, but he hadn’t listened. To make matters worse, he put her in a white lacy dress, _that really itched,_ with a flared skirt. The bodice and skirt met with a pink ribbon wrapping around the waist that tied into an obnoxious bow in the back. _I’m too grown up for big bows_! She looked pretty, _really I do,_ but it was uncomfortable and the prospect of sitting in it for seven hours frustrated her and made her eyes misty.

When Papa finished putting on his suit, he smiled at her and slipped his hand into hers. She used her other to pick up her doll, but Papa shook his head. “No no, principessa. We don’t bring our toys into the church,” he said with a smile, the one that adults gave you when you did something silly.

Marilyn pouted as she let the doll slip from her hand, “What am I supposed to do then?”

“Think about your relationship with God and listen to the sermons,” he said as he pulled her from the room without her doll.

“How long will that take?” she asked.

“We spend about an hour,” he said as they walked towards his car.

“An hour?! That’s so long,” she whined as if she hadn’t been in a church service of that length before.

“Vittoria, it’s the Lord’s day. Don’t complain. It’s UnChristian,” he chastised as he helped her into the backseat and buckled her in.

The door closed with a finality that told her he wouldn’t listen to her complaints. Papa got into the driver’s seat and started the engine, which roared as he pulled them out of their palace boundaries. “Will they speak English?” she asked, as she swung her white stocking legs.

“No dolcezza. It’ll all be in Italian or Latin,” he said as they began their journey to the church.

“Then how will I understand what they’re saying?” she huffed.

“You’ll learn the language soon enough,” he said in a clipped tone.

Papa did not consider the ride to the church short enough to escape the pestering questions of a cranky seven-year-old. When they finally, _finally_ , arrived he turned around as she began to unbuckle her seatbelt. “Principessa,” he said, getting her to stop fumbling with the buckle, “You need to be on your very best behavior for me. Be as perfect as a princess.”

She looked at his face and she could tell he was not asking. She nodded solemnly, “I’ll do my very best Papa.”

Papa gave her a satisfied smile at her expression, “I know you will.”

Papa got out of the car and went around to the back to open the car door for her. She slipped out, letting her polished white shoes create a dusty plume as she stepped onto the dusty road. The church, if she could even call it that, was enormous! It barely looked like a place of worship, and instead looked like a castle only fit for the finest Kings and Queens. There were sculptures of saints and other religious figures there that were so terrifyingly imposing. She couldn’t help but hold her Papa’s hand a little tighter and push herself into him.

The church back home was simple, and this was far from it. The columns were higher than the buildings surrounding the church and had intricate images carved into them. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Papa asked.

“It’s scary,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Papa hmm’d, “There is beauty in the terrifying, no?”

She sensed the answer he wanted, so she nodded in agreement. He pulled her inside the church, which ended up being more imposing than the outside. The ceiling was high and had Biblical drawings on it, and was held up by stony marble columns that matched the floor. The walls themselves could barely be considered walls and instead looked like an artist’s canvas. Mary and Jesus were the main subjects, but there were several people she assumed were Catholic saints. The art behind the altar depicted Jesus holding someone, she wasn’t sure who. That seemed to be the only comforting image so far because in the corner of her eye was Jesus on the cross, which she could’ve sworn was the second most terrifying thing she’d ever seen.

The woven crown of thorns was pressed into his head, leaving trails of blood to sink into his eyes. It instantly reminded her of Mama, “Daddy,” she whimpered, pressing her face into his suit.

The art, size, and loud music terrified her. “Let’s find our seats,” he said, ignoring her distress.

“Daddy, I wanna leave,” she said in a watery voice.

 _The church back home was so simple…so safe_ … “Hush, remember what I said Vittoria,” he reprimanded as he guided her into the front pews.

She’d never felt further away from God. As the church packed with people, she felt more and more alone. “Papa, I’m scared,” she whispered.

She was gonna cry. She just knew it and then he’d be mad. Papa didn’t answer her as he gave her a Bible and a book of hymns. To take her mind off of everything, she opened the books. _Italian…or is it Latin? “_ Papa, aren’t there ones in English?” she asked nervously.

Papa looked down at her soft green eyes, she looked so vulnerable and frail. “No, but do your best to follow along.”

She opened her mouth to say more, but everyone got up in unison. _It’s best to just copy Papa,_ but then everyone sat down as quickly as they got up. The priest started speaking in Italian and whatever he was saying, _he was saying it really really fast_! Papa was entranced the entire time, his eyes focused on the priest as if he were the only person in the room. She supposed this was a good thing since it allowed her to let frustrated and confused tears roll down her cheeks that she hid by her dangling blonde curls. _I wanna go home!_

It was the longest hour of her life. Marilyn couldn’t understand one thing they were saying and she had never felt dumber. The church was freezing and it didn’t help the sense of loneliness that settled in her chest, which was already trying to contain a rapidly beating heart. _Papa’s right here, so I shouldn’t feel so alone._ Deciding to take a risk, she laid her head on his shoulder which he didn’t acknowledge. _I wish he’d look at me and tell me I’m fine._

Marilyn did her best to push down her negative feelings because she knew she’d be in trouble if Papa felt them. _He can feel what you’re feeling._ For the remainder of the service, she recited all of the Italian words she knew in her head to focus on something else. She didn’t feel better, but she had stopped crying.

When Papa got up, she snatched his hand like there was no tomorrow. Papa smiled down at her before seeing subtle tear marks on her porcelain face, “Principessa, were you crying?”

Marilyn pouted her lip and nodded guiltily. “I was scared Papa,” she said softly.

 _I really hope he doesn’t hate me._ Papa sighed and pulled out his handkerchief, and did his best to wipe the marks off of her. She leaned into his comforting gesture just as he pulled it away and stuck the handkerchief back into his pocket. He lead her out of the pews into the crowded aisle with the rest of the congregation. It was really naive to think they’d be able to leave right after, because, like Mama, Papa was immediately pulled into a conversation with some of the other congregants. _Why do adults do this?_

Older ladies that reminded her much of the fishwives began to talk animatedly with Papa, but unlike Mama, everyone seemed to love him. They smiled at him in a way that Mama never got to receive, and Marilyn couldn’t help but wonder why. Papa pulled her in front of him and spoke in fast Italian, and he must’ve introduced her because she heard the name “Vittoria”. _But my name is Marilyn. Are we still playing pretend?_

The women oohed and awed at her, saying things that she assumed were compliments based on the smiles on their and her Papa’s faces. Her cheeks were pinched and her nose tapped, but all she could do was look up at Papa confused and nervous. _I don’t like strangers touching me…especially when I don’t know what they’re saying…_ It was like no one could hear her or see her as if she were merely an accessory to be shown off. Papa continued to talk for what seemed like a long time, while she remained silent like “good little girls do”. _What would I even say?_

The pressure in her chest got heavier and she began to grow nauseous. Her misery and anxiety was prolonged just when she thought Papa was wrapping up, “Principessa,” he said sweetly, “I have to talk to someone really quickly about grown-up things, so I’m going to leave you with Signora Giordano, okay?”

Her mouth gaped and she sputtered in protest, “But…”

“Be good for me,” he whispered as he kissed her on her curls and then swiftly left her at the side of the older plump woman.

Her lower lip trembled as she watched him leave her side. _He left me._ The older woman had thin dark black hair that could surprisingly still be pinned up. She was portly and her curves strained her black ruffled dress. Marilyn shyly looked up into her dark eyes, which were cradled by crows feet, and couldn’t say why she didn’t feel better when she smiled. The woman began to speak (slowly, thankfully) and with the very little Italian she knew, she knew she was being called pretty and sweet. “Grazie,” she responded politely unsure of how to continue.

The woman took her hand and lead her to sit down in the pews. _Why do strangers think they can touch me?_ They sat down and the woman began to talk animatedly with big gestures and slow speech, which made Marilyn feel dumb. _Didn’t Papa tell her I don’t speak Italian?_ Unsure of what to do, she nodded politely and kept her hands folded on her lap. The woman didn’t seem bothered by her silence or lack of response, which was a great relief because Marilyn didn’t want to be seen as rude. _Papa wouldn’t be happy._

She was alarmed when suddenly Signora Giordano gently took Marilyn’s right hand from her lap and put it on her purse, “Borsetta,” she said as she used their entwined hands to tap the bag again, “Borsetta.”

Marilyn had a feeling the woman wanted her to repeat it, so she tapped the bag again and said, “Borsetta.”

The woman smiled, “Bene!”

The praise lifted her spirits up and then something clicked, “Borsetta means purse!”

The woman rubbed Marilyn’s cheek affectionately with praise in her eyes, “Si!”

Signora Giordano reached inside her bag and pulled out two wrapped candies, and held them in front of Marilyn, “Cioccolato,” she said slowly to make sure that Marilyn could hear the pronunciation.

She didn’t need anyone to translate that for her, and confidently repeated the word on her first try, “Cioccolato.”

With enthusiasm, Marilyn pointed to the first one and said, “Uno,” and then to the second and said, “Duo!”

Signora Giordano beamed at her and affectionately called out, “Bene,” before giving her the pair of chocolates.

“Grazie!” Marilyn replied gratefully.

The woman nodded to her to go ahead and eat the chocolates, or _cioccolato,_ while she pointed out things in the church and said their names in Italian. Marilyn wouldn’t remember any of the words besides borsetta and cioccolato, but it was something that consumed her mind and company. The church that had seemed so cold before, suddenly felt warmer. Marilyn got the woman’s attention and pointed to herself and said, “Felice.”

The woman who had seemed so happy before looked like her day had been brightened, as if it hadn’t been before. Marilyn sat contentedly with the woman and was in better spirits than when Papa had left her. Her heart leapt when Papa returned with the priest by his side. Papa smiled at the two ladies sitting next to each other, and extended his hand to help Signora Giordano up. He spoke rapidly in Italian to the woman and she answered with a wide warm smile, “Oh really?” he smirked proudly as he turned to Marilyn, “And what new words did you learn principessa?”

“Borsetta and cioccolato!” she stated proudly, hitting the accented parts of the words.

“Of course you did,” he laughed as he rubbed her cheek, “I’m very proud of you.”

Papa said some words to the priest and then to Signora Giordano before picking Marilyn up suddenly with a groan, “Light as a fairy,” he said as his blue eyes examined her.

“Then why did you make a noise?” she frowned, but all she got was a hearty laugh.

“Can you say ‘buongiorno’ and ‘grazie’ to Signora Giordano for taking care of you?” he asked, _well not so much asked._

She nodded and waved at the older woman, “Grazie and buongiorno!”

Marilyn received a kiss from the woman as she was carried away by her Papa and continued to wave farewell behind his back at the woman and the priest. “Did I do okay Papa?” she asked nervously.

“Everyone loved you,” he grinned, “And how could they not? Such a sweet little thing!”

He gave her a wet kiss on her cheek and she giggled. “I can’t wait to give you your present when we get home.”

She gasped excitedly, “What is it?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he smirked.

By the time he tucked her into the car, her chest felt lighter and her day brighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm open to feedback regarding the Italian!


	12. How Do You Cure Loneliness?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn makes her first friend and she realizes she'll never really be alone in her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Leonardo being a creep near the end of the chapter.

If Marilyn had a volume button, then she’s sure her Papa would’ve used it. _It’s really his fault. He said he had a surprise for me, so what did he expect?_ “But what is it?” she squealed, dragging out the word “is” as she bounced excitedly in her seat.

She could hear Papa’s smile in his voice. “You’ll find out when we get home,” Papa said looking at the clock, “We’re almost there,” he finished with a sigh.

“But I’ll die of not knowing by then,” she said dramatically, allowing her body to flop sideways on the car cushions.

“You’ll survive,” he said plainly, with annoyance lacing his tone.

_I highly doubt it._ She badgered him the rest of the way, but he wouldn’t give in. She kept guessing and guessing, but he _refused_ to even tell her if she was on the right track! When they finally reached the gates, she immediately went for the car door before Papa said something quickly in Italian. Marilyn didn’t know what it meant, but she could guess it meant stop by his tone.

Marilyn had already unbuckled her seatbelt and when the car finally stopped, she hopped out without waiting for her Papa to open the door for her like a gentleman. Papa was definitely new to being a Papa because he was slower than Mama when it came to keeping up with Marilyn’s speed. She considered it hardly an accomplishment when he finally caught up with her since she had been stopped solely by the locked front door. She was tiny and practically weighed nothing, but that didn’t stop her from roughly tugging on the handle as if she would suddenly become endowed with enhanced strength. She could feel his presence coming up from behind her and she looked back at him with a pout.

He had a smug and amused face that irritated her. “Now Vittoria, if you keep making that face it’ll get stuck like that forever.”

“But you’re taking forever!” she whined, clutching the handle as she leaned back dramatically.

He chuckled, “Give me a smile and I’ll open the door.”

With a little huff, she balanced herself and let go of the handle, and gave him a sweet smile. Papa must have been content with her performance because he moved past her and _finally_ unlocked the door before opening it for her like a gentleman. She burst inside, stumbling over her own feet to the point had to catch her by the back of her white dress. “Where is it?” she asked enthusiastically, her green eyes looking around excitedly.

“Go into the sitting room and I’ll bring it out for you,” he said, a smile lacing his voice.

She tried to tug herself away from him before he whispered in her ear, “Walk.”

Marilyn nodded obediently and walked as fast as she could to the sitting room. Papa had left her side to fetch whatever it was, and she took the time to seat herself comfortably on the red chaise imagining what her surprise could be. _Maybe it’s another doll…to add to the thirty I already have…and haven’t played with yet._ Her soft green eyes lit up when Papa walked back into the room, carrying a circular gift box with a large red ribbon on top. She eagerly reached her arms out to it but Papa didn’t give it to her, “Vittoria, be gentle with the box. This gift is very delicate, much like you. Please set it down before you open it. Understand?”

She looked at him confused but nodded in understanding as she gently took the box from his arms and set it down softly on the cushions. With shaking and anticipating hands, she tugged off the bow and opened the gift box. It was the small meow that made her start crying. She screamed in adoration at the sight in front of her: a small white meowing kitten with a soft pink bow tied around its neck. It had bright brilliant blue eyes, like Papa.

The kitten had made its way towards the edge of the box, ready to escape its confinement when Marilyn took the sweet, soft, and delicate thing into her hands. She held it close to her chest, “I love you so much!”

She kissed its soft furry head as it meowed in indignation about the loud and emotionally overwhelmed child clinging to it. “You’re so cute!” she squealed.

“Do you like her?” Papa asked, his voice startling her as she had forgotten his presence.

“Like her? I love her!” she cried as she softly stroked its head, “Thank you, Papa!”

She gazed adoringly into the kitten’s soft blue eyes for as long as she could before it started looking around, ready to escape. Marilyn set her down, eager to see her move around and be cute. _Mama had never let me have a pet before, not even a goldfish_! Now she had this tiny thing to love forever! “Look at her! She’s moving!” she squealed in delight.

“She is!” Papa said as he sat down beside Marilyn, pressing himself behind her so he could whisper in her ear, “And she’s all yours. You’re her mother.”

“I’m her Mama,” Marilyn giggled as she gently picked up the roaming kitten and put her in front of her face, “I’m your Mama now!”

The kitten let out small meows, making Marilyn laugh, “I know! That makes him your grandpa!”

She turned around smiling at her Papa, not noticing that her comment had given his smile a trace of annoyance. “Thank you Papa!” she said thankfully, kissing him on the cheek.

He kissed her back. “Anything for my perfect little principessa. You’re going to be a wonderful mother to the kitten,” he complimented before asking, what Marilyn considered, the most important question, “What are you going to name her?”

Marilyn cradled the kitten in her arms as she looked at her adoringly, “Principessa! Like what you call me!”

She stroked the kitten’s white soft coat before adding, “Wait! Principessa Snowbell! Her full name is Principessa Snowbell!”

Marilyn heard her father suck in a breath and she turned to look at him. He was still smiling, but she could tell there was a small difference in his eyes. _He must like it too!_ “Do you like it, Papa?”

“Of course, it’s perfect. But, are you sure?” he asked sweetly, “Because you won’t be able to change it.”

Marilyn nodded surely, and confidently confirmed her name choice, “Uh-huh!”

She had refocused her attention on the newly named kitten, so she couldn’t see a little part of her Papa die inside. Principessa Snowbell had crawled out of her arms and was doing her best to jump off the couch. “Hold on,” Marilyn said as she picked the kitten up by her stomach, “I’ve got you!”

Marilyn gently put her new baby on the floor and watched her run around, while she happily chased after her. _After all, a Mama has to make sure she watches her baby so she doesn’t get hurt._ She didn’t really know what to do with her heart, because the feeling she had in it was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Her face began to hurt from smiling so wide, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. All that mattered at that moment was preventing Principessa Snowbell from scratching up the carpet.

Marilyn and Papa decided to have lunch while the kitten was eating. _The food for Principessa Snowbell was tiny, just like her_! It turns out, kittens sleep a lot. _Like a lot, a lot._ Papa had to find another way to entertain Marilyn, so she’d let the poor creature sleep. He played dolls with her for what could be considered a whole hour with the several intervals in between where Marilyn insisted checking on Principessa Snowbell.

Finally, the tables turned and it was Marilyn’s time to get ready for bed. “But where will she sleep?” she asked as Papa braided her drying hair.

“There’s a bed for her in an enclosed space downstairs. She’ll be perfectly comfortable mia principessa,” he said as he tied one of her braids with a bow.

“Won’t she feel alone though?” Marilyn asked worriedly.

_Waking up with no one around you is so scary._ “No Vittoria, she’ll be okay.”

Marilyn bit her lip, “Papa, please let her sleep with me tonight! She needs me!”

“No Vittoria,” he said, finishing the other braid with a bow.

“Why not?” she asked demandingly.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Vittoria. It’s ungrateful,” he said strictly, his disapproving blues eyes meeting hers in the mirror.

Marilyn pouted and sighed, “I’m sorry Papa.”

_I really am._ He bought her a kitten, _a kitten_! After seeing she looked thoroughly repentant, he smiled, “Both of you will get a better sleep if you two are apart. She’ll be all yours again when you wake up.”

Marilyn pouted. _Principessa Snowbell is probably in a parlor next to the sitting room. When he goes to bed, I’ll go get her._ She smiled mischievously, “Okay.”

“Vittoria,” he said shortly and spun her around after seeing her face, “Let me be perfectly clear, the cat may not sleep with you.”

She nodded in affirmation, “Okay Papa.”

***

It really was a darling sight to behold. The kitten was snuggled right into Marilyn’s chest, its small breaths were in sync with her own. Marilyn had made sure that Principessa Snowbell and her own body were wrapped snuggly within the comforters, tucked in nice and warm like Mrs. Marks made sure she had been each night. She even sang a song to lull her to sleep that she learned in the church nursery. Marilyn loved having someone to love and dote upon, to be a mother towards.

Plus, she knew from experience how scary it was to wake up with a new family so she wanted to make sure Principessa Snowbell knew that she was safe and that she was loved. All of these reasons contributed to her “I'll be damned” attitude to go and fetch the kitten from her pen a few hours ago and keep her in her own room. Papa would most likely find out, but that was a problem for another time. Or…at least it should’ve been. The sleeping pair didn’t notice that a crescent of light from the hallway illuminated a part of the bedroom, nor were they bothered when it shone on their faces when it grew wider. The pair didn’t do so much as stir when large footsteps padded across the carpet until they stood right over Marilyn who was curled in her bed.

In fact, it wasn’t until a few moments passed did Marilyn realize-even from the depths of her sweetest dreams- that she wasn’t the only person in the room. Her body subconsciously alerted her to another presence in the room, causing her eyes to flutter open where she then let out a girlish frightened shriek when she saw a large hulking figure standing next to her bed! Her body sprung up, scurrying back to the headboard leaving the alarmed and meowing kitten underneath a bundle of blankets. When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she was able to use the light to see that it was just Papa, which calmed her heartbeat a little. “Papa? What…what are you doing? What’s wrong?”

She always asked this, because Mama used to do the same thing. Marilyn recalled a couple of times where she awoke with a scream to Mama standing over her, her eyes cast down at Marilyn. Mama didn’t really say anything, she just stood there stiff and still until her senses must have returned before looking at Marilyn with a slight horror and then walking away. Mama never explained to her what she was doing or thinking on those nights. The difference between the same action was unsettling. Mama looked at her, but her soul was far away whereas her Papa’s eyes held a desperation to keep her close.

The rest of Papa’s expression wasn’t telling. It didn’t help that the only light came from the hallway, but Marilyn could feel the tenseness and she thought maybe, _just maybe_ , that there were a few beads of sweat on his forehead. “Papa,” she said a little louder, “What are you-,” then she shifted her eyes to the kitten who had just rolled on her back and shut her eyes.

_Principessa Snowbell._ She suddenly felt her heartbeat quicken again as she realized that he must be here because she’s in trouble since she had blatantly defied her Papa’s orders. Marilyn looked at him guiltily,“Papa…I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything so she nervously added, “She’s my baby, and I didn’t want her to be scared on her first night here.”

_He’ll understand, won’t he? He was there for me on_ ** _my_** _first night!_ Papa didn’t move nor did he say anything and she was getting nervous waiting for his reprimand but that didn’t come at all. In fact, he acted as if Principessa Snowbell wasn’t even there. “Come here Vittoria,” he said in a low voice as he held out his hand.

Marilyn was confused but crawled out from her comforter, taking care not to disturb her baby, and slipped her hand into his. Papa took this opportunity to pull her forward and take her into his arms. She let out an involuntary shriek as he positioned her on his hip, “You’ll sleep with me for the rest of tonight,” he said in a tone that made no room for refusal.

Her arms instinctively went around his neck and she noticed that it was a little cold and wet, like he had been sweating or something. As he started carrying her out of her room, her mind raced a thousand thoughts in a second. “What about Principessa Snowbell?” she asked worriedly.

“She’s sound asleep and won’t even notice,” he said, not bothering to look at her.

“But when she wakes up, she’ll be all alone! She’ll be so scared!” she fretted.

Marilyn sucked in a breath _when Mama left you alone. At home. That day…well, she didn’t really leave you alone…she_ ** _was_** _there._ Tears began to streak down her face, and she thumped on her Papa’s chest, “Papa please! I…she needs me! I’m her Mama!”

“Vittoria, stop this,” he said tiredly as he roughly pushed open his door to his own bedroom.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out as he gently placed her on his bed, “Get under the covers on that side,” he said gesturing to the right side of the bed, “Now.”

Marilyn did as he commanded, struggling to pull the covers over herself since they were bundled and scrunched at the end of the bed as if they were kicked off violently, but continued to pitifully sob, “If you’re letting me sleep with you, why can’t she sleep with me?”

Papa shut his door, plunging the room into darkness. Her heart stilled as her sense of sight left her. Papa’s footsteps and the sheets rustling were the only sounds that alerted her to where he was. When Papa was settled, he pulled her close to him, “You’re not an animal Vittoria. You’re a good little girl who’s going to do what she’s told when she’s told to do it.”

Marilyn noticed that her Papa’s tone was different than it usually was. _Maybe he’s just tired…Mama sounded differently when she was tired. She was meaner._ The darkness obscured the sight of her frustration but did nothing to cover the sounds of her distressed panting and couldn't help but think, _m_ _y kitten needs me._

Her thoughts were interrupted by Papa's voice, “And _what_ you’re being told to do is to stop thinking about that cat. And you’re being told to do that, _now._ ”

_It still doesn’t make sense! He called me her_ ** _mother_** _. Mothers are supposed to comfort their babies and let them sleep with them._ Marilyn paused. “Papa,” she said softly, “Mama never did this.”

Papa sighed, tightening his arm around her, “Did what?”

“She never let me sleep with her…So why are you?” she asked.

Papa pressed his lips to her forehead and adorned it with soft kisses while he stroked her cheek. He mumbled something in Italian, though Marilyn was too confused to try and understand it. “That’s what Papas are for mia principessa,” he said, the words flowing naturally from his lips.

Marilyn scrunched her face. She never had a Papa before, so how would she know? The only time someone had offered to share a bed with her was Mrs. Marks, and she wouldn’t let her because she didn’t want her to think she was a better mama than her own. It was all too confusing. Would Pastor Marks share a bed with her if he became her new papa? Marilyn shivered, she didn’t like the thought of that too much. _But this is_ ** _my_** _Papa, so there’s nothing to be scared of,_ she reasoned _._

With a small sigh, Marilyn snuggled closer to her Papa, whose breathing was evening out. Papa moved his hand from her cheek and gently stroked her hair, presumably to try and calm her. Unfortunately, while Papa may have been tired, Marilyn certainly was not. There were too many thoughts racing through her mind, so she picked one to settle on. “Papa?” she asked, poking his chest.

“Hm?” he responded, clearly trying to drift off into sleep.

“Why did you tell those ladies my name was Vittoria?” she asked.

“Because that’s your name,” he said with finality, “Now close your eyes, and let’s go to sleep.”

_I thought we were just playing pretend._ “So…am I going by Vittoria forever now?” she whispered.

“Go to sleep Vittoria,” he said impatiently, both ignoring and answering her question.

Marilyn stopped talking but her thoughts kept her awake. _It’s a very pretty name, a name fit for a principessa_. _Papa came up with it all on his own. Just for me._ The thought made her heart leap and her face blush, not that Papa could see it happen.

To be honest she never held a particular fondness for her real name, however, she didn’t particularly dislike it. Still, there was a part of her that felt like she’d be losing something if she went by Vittoria from hereon out. _Did Briar Rose start using the name Aurora when she found_ ** _her_** _parents?_ Marilyn assumed so, but it must’ve been hard. _For everything, you’ve ever known to change._

Marilyn lived with Mama her entire life, but she really never knew what Mama was thinking. She could predict her moods, _I had to,_ but she never knew much about the woman who gave birth to her. _Grandma’s name was Marilyn too. Mama loved her own mommy as I love her._ Just the idea of leaving that small sentimental part of her in the past caused a few more tears to roll down her cheeks.

But Papa smiled whenever he said ‘Vittoria’. And when he did, he looked at her with such a fondness that Marilyn had never been accustomed to. The way he said her name was pretty and full of something that sounded like love in Marilyn’s own young ears. _Mama never said my name in any special way._ In fact, Marilyn was certain that she spoke of her kitten’s name with more love than Mama did hers. The fact that her Mama could name her daughter after someone she had loved so much and said that name with such little affection towards her pained Marilyn, made her heartache.

_Like I’m not good enough for grandma’s name._ Her lip pouted and her eyebrows furrowed in frustration. _I am!_ Marilyn unknowingly whined and Papa pulled her tighter, “Shh principessa, close your eyes now.”

Marilyn was much too tense now. Papa was treating her nicer than Mama had. Everyone had treated her nicer than Mama had. And she hated it! “No!” she screamed, trying to wrestle out of his arms.

“Vittoria,” he grumbled as he held her tighter, “Settle down. It’s late.”

“Mama didn’t let me do this!” she whined as she still tried to twist out of his arms.

Papa held her tighter, too tight to the point that it was starting to get a little painful. “Daddy, you’re hurting me!” she cried.

“Then stop moving and relax,” he said simply.

“Why won’t you just let me go?” she asked frantically as she unknowingly began to dig her nails into his arm, though not hard enough to break his skin.

“I’m losing my patience, Vittoria. Settle down now or else you won’t like what’ll happen tomorrow morning,” he said with a calm collected tone that made her blood run cold.

His words alone made her body as well as her heart still, “What…what’s going to happen…happen tomorrow morning?” she stuttered.

Papa kissed the side of her head, pleased that she had stopped moving. He spoke with his lips still on her temple, and she could feel that they were smiling, “Well, now that you’ve settled down, you won’t find out. See how easy that was mia principessa?”

Her heart went from being still to pounding furiously against her chest. _His voice was so normal but it was so scary._ She nodded dumbly and let him press her body down next to his so they could both recline and relax. Papa began to sing to her in Italian, and she allowed herself to listen to his soothing calm voice that had just threatened her moments ago. _Threaten? Please! He was probably just going to spank you tomorrow morning. Not that I’d want a spanking, but come on! Don’t be such a baby! You’ve been spanked before and you would have deserved it too. Besides, Papa would never really hurt you. He’s nice_.

Her anxiety over his threat slowly faded away, leaving her body and mind exhausted and ready to follow his orders and close her eyes to go to sleep. _Like a good girl._ Marilyn didn’t know what he was singing, but it sounded pretty. _Everything Papa says sounds pretty. I like the way he says my name and_ _if Aurora went by her new name when she met her parents, then I can too_! Her body snuggled into his, finding his warmth comforting and his words lulling.

Marilyn was fast asleep by the time the song ended and breathing evenly as Papa whispered and kissed the top of her blonde curls, “Sei la cura per il veleno che tua madre ha messo nei miei sogni.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week has been so tiring. Work has kept me so busy and I've come home exhausted every night. I try my best to post a chapter every Friday because it helps me to have a routine. Still, for as tired, as I was this week, I don't think this is a bad chapter. I was really excited to introduce the kitten ❤️ Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! It really helps motivate me and it always makes me smile! So thank you and I hope everyone has a great weekend!


	13. Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn learns many lessons, such as Italian, etiquette, maths, English, history, and the most important one of all: not to lie to her Papa.

Unlike most days, Marilyn did not wake up naturally nor did she feel compelled to. The prospect of spending five hours a day with just one other adult, who was most certainly not her Papa, didn’t appeal to her. _Also, I’m a new Mama to a kitten! How can he expect me to work at a time like this?_ This is why when she heard the door to the room creak open, she buried her face into the pillow and under the duvet. “Buongiorno principessa mia,” her Papa said softly, and she could tell he had a smile on his face.

Marilyn grunted and shut her eyes tightly, trying to ignore how his footsteps grew louder as he approached her bed. _His bed. I slept with him last night._ Not that it mattered, because she didn’t feel the urge to move when he sat next to her, nor did she stir when he gently peeled the duvet back, “Rise and shine.”

 _Nope._ Papa started stroking her hair, pulling it out of her face. “Vittoria,” he sang, “It’s time to wake up. Your tutors are coming today.”

Marilyn shook her head as Papa chuckled, taking the chance to kiss her forehead, “Come now Vittoria, it’d be a bad first impression if you were late.”

“I don wanna go,” she mumbled into the pillow.

Papa peeled off the duvet and sheets, letting the cold air assault her bare legs. Marilyn grunted and curled into herself like a rolly polly to try to warm herself. “My dear, your kitten is meowing for you. She misses you…”

 **That** woke her up! She shot up in her bed like she’d seen mummies do on the television, “Where is she?” she asked in a panic.

“Downstairs. I already fed her, because I wanted you to sleep in. It’s seven in the morning principessa,” he said with a smile.

 _Seven in the morning is “sleeping in”?_ Sleeping in was staying in bed until ten for her, while Mama stayed in bed until noon. Mama wouldn’t wake up earlier, which Marilyn learned the hard way. Then again, she just became more independent. Unlike the _other_ kids in her grade, she could make breakfast and get ready all by herself. Thankfully her Papa doll kept her company as she watched cartoons, which then made her wonder if Papa had a television set. “Are you going to get out of bed by yourself or will I have to carry you downstairs myself?” Papa asked jokingly.

Marilyn answered his question by throwing off her covers and hopping out of bed. _Principessa Snowbell needs me_! She let Papa guide her downstairs, otherwise, she would have run and most likely broken her neck. Marilyn quickly greeted and snuggled her kitten, who pressed into her body and meowed in contentment from her affection. After assaulting the poor thing’s head with kisses, Papa made her wash her hands for breakfast. It was a while into their meal when Papa extinguished her giddy mood.

“Vittoria, you respect me. Yes?” he asked, not quite meeting her eyes yet.

She stilled, subconsciously putting her fork back onto her plate, not quite understanding why he would think otherwise, “Of course!”

“Then perhaps you could explain to me why you disobeyed me and let the kitten sleep with you last night when I told you no,” he said with a disapproving voice as he folded his hands on the table.

Now he was looking at her. _His eyes and voice are still beautiful, even though he’s scary…_ Marilyn knew. She knew when adults asked a kid to explain themselves, they didn’t mean it. They didn’t really want to know, nor did they care about the reason, but she couldn’t help but hope he was different. “I-I didn’t want her to be alone on her first night,” she stammered, before adding, “on her first night away from her mommy.”

Marilyn then got an idea, and smiled internally, “I was just doing what you did for me my first night. You tucked me in and everything!”

She widened her eyes and pouted a bit, trying to look as sweet and innocent as she could. _After all, how could Papa blame me for following his example? That’s what a good Papa does! He said so himself_!But Papa’s eyes didn’t change and he remained quiet because she hadn’t given him what she wanted. So Marilyn swallowed her pride and said what he wanted her to say. “But I’m sorry for disappointing you Papa, I really am,” she said guiltily.

Because _in a way_ , she was. On one hand, she didn’t want her kitten to be sad but on the other, her heart ached to disappoint Papa _._ Marilyn knew she’d make him upset by doing what she did, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. _Papa has been so good to me! He got me a kitten and held me when I cried! He let me sleep with him and he buys me nice things. He’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of._ If she weren’t able to sell her sense of guilt before, she was able to do it now. Still, that wasn’t enough for her Papa.

“I don’t like it when people disrespect me, Vittoria. Especially when that disrespect comes from my own flesh and blood,” he said and she nodded, “particularly when your respect is instead given to an animal.”

She opened her mouth, and could hear her own voice break, “I respect you too, Daddy! I’m sorry!”

Marilyn could feel Principessa Snowbell rub against the chair legs. The action was so cute, but she couldn’t think much about that right now when Papa was mad at her. Papa’s voice never raised its volume, but she could hear something in it. She didn’t know what the “ _it”_ was, but it scared her. “I respect you more than her Papa,” she said painfully.

“My dear, I won’t punish you today. I just wanted to have a conversation,” he said lightly before his tone changed into a darker one, “But let me be clear if I see you disrespect your Papa, the only person in the world who loves you, in favor of the cat then I won’t hesitate-,"

“What does 'hesitate' mean?" she asked, tears still brimming her eyes.

It was definitely the wrong time to ask. Papa was looking at her with an unamused expression, clearly upset that she had interrupted him but nevertheless answered, "It means pause or stop before doing or saying something."

"Oh," she said quietly.

When he saw that she understood the meaning of the word, he continued, "As I was saying, I won't **hesitate** to make sure that you won’t have the option of doing it again.”

"What do you mean?” her voice wobbled.

Papa looked at her sternly, clearly upset that he had to spell it out for her like it was obvious or something! “I will get rid of the kitten if I see you are choosing to respect her more than me. Is that understood?”

It’s like her blood stopped flowing because she had never felt colder. _He’d really give Principessa Snowbell to another family? Does he really think I don’t respect him?_ “I-I understand Papa. I’m so sorry,” she said in a desperate and pleading voice.

"And **_never_ **interrupt me again. Do you understand?" he said, his blue eyes displaying his displeasure.

"Yes, I promise Papa! I'm so sorry," she said, a small sob leaving her chest. 

Her eyes watered, and with that Papa smiled at her. Whether it was forgivingly or in satisfaction, she couldn’t tell. She couldn't prevent the tears from escaping the brim of her eyes to stream down her porcelain cheeks. _God, sorry, I feel like I’ve cried so much today…but it’s my own fault._ ** _I_** _was the one who_ _talked back and_ _disobeyed Papa._ “I forgive you principessa,” he said benevolently.

Tears continued to trickle down but as she began to wallow in her sadness over disappointing him she suddenly remembered what she and Papa talked about the last time she had a meltdown. “Are…are you sad?” she asked biting her lip as she looked up at him, “Because I’m sad?”

Papa studied her face, analyzing her innocence and naiveté through her big green emerald eyes, “Yes darling. You’re making me sad. It pains me to see you cry.”

If she thought her heart couldn’t hurt any more than it already did, she was wrong. _I’m making Papa sad…_ “I’m sorry Papa,” she whispered.

“Show me you want to make it up to me then. Give me that beautiful smile of yours,” he said in a gentler tone.

 _I don’t feel like smiling. I’m not happy… But Papa wants to see it._ Marilyn looked up at Papa and gave him a gentle and shy smile, which looked odd and out of place on her tear-stained face. “Bel sorriso!” he exclaimed happily, “You’ve made me happy again mia principessa.”

 _Daddy’s happy again._ Marilyn's smile widened at his happy face, pleased to see that he still loved her.“Let’s brush your teeth and change you into a fresh set of clothes, hm? You have to look presentable for your first meeting with your tutor,” he said brightly.

Marilyn’s smile dropped, “But…can’t we do it another day? Tomorrow? I don’t feel well Papa!”

Papa frowned, “You can’t stop your day, because of a little tantrum. You have to move on. Remember what I said about listening and respecting me Vittoria.”

Marilyn looked down and sighed. Mama wouldn’t have let her skip a day, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that Papa wouldn’t either. But a girl could hope. Her heart ached again at the thought of Mama, but she took a deep breath and pushed the feeling down as she looked up at her Papa with a fiery resolve, “Alright.”

Her expression must have stirred something in Papa, because she saw him stare at her with fascination, “You look so much like your mother right now.”

His tone was once again undecipherable, but she decided to take his comment as a compliment and mumbled a thank you. She knew she was frowning, but Mama still looked pretty when she was frowning. _As if Mama wore anything else,_ she thought. Taking Principessa Snowbell in her arms, Marilyn let Papa lead her upstairs to get ready.

Marilyn had decided it wasn’t worth the effort to fight against Papa's insistence that he would get her ready himself, despite knowing she could do it all on her own. _Besides, if it makes Papa happy and forgive me for being bad then I'll allow it_. _Even though it’s annoying._ As he washed her and gently pulled her out of the tub, she couldn’t help but feel like an anchor was pulling her eyelids down. Her “tantrum” as Papa called it, had left her really tired and the bath certainly did no favors to keep her awake.

Principessa Snowbell was snoozing in the corner, and Marilyn wished for nothing else but to curl up with her in her bed. _Not that Papa would allow it anymore_. “Why does Principessa Snowbell sleep so much?” Marilyn pouted.

She’d have thought the kitten would be more energetic. “She’s still a baby. Kittens sleep up to 22 hours a day,” he said as he was pulling a white dress with a yellow flower-print over her head.

Marilyn wore a lot of dresses now that she lived with Papa, and always looked like a princess! But there were sometimes she ached to wear pants again (she was the only girl in her grade who did) because when she did, she always looked like Mama. Marilyn looked into the mirror and even though her Mama’s eyes were looking back at her, and at that moment she felt that she had never resembled her less. _I wonder if Mama noticed that I don’t look that much like her…_ Her depressed state was broken when her Papa tugged on her hair particularly hard as he began to pin it up, “Ow!” she complained, “Papa that hurted!”

“The word is _‘hurts’_ for present tense or ‘ _hurt_ ’ for past tense. And no it did not,” he said calmly as he continued to pull on her hair roughly, ignoring her complaints, “Didn’t your teachers lecture you on how to use your verbs?”

She didn’t know what the word “lecture” meant, but it sounded like something Mr. Morgan was good at. And _yes, he did “lecture” us on verbs, not that I listened._ “I don’t like language arts,” she pouted and crossed her arms.

Her kitten meowed loudly from across the bathroom, which Marilyn took as a sign of agreement. “It doesn’t matter if you like it, my dear. So long as you are good at it,” he said with a smile, “And I’m sure you will be as excellent in your Italian as you will be in your English.”

Marilyn met his eyes curiously, “Will they speak English?”

“Your maths, language, and history teacher will until he feels you’re ready to transition entirely to Italian. However I believe he’ll have you use Italian during all of his lessons,” he said as he pet her head.

Papa took her hand and started guiding her out of her room, only temporarily releasing her so she could carry Principessa Snowbell down the staircase, “How many teachers will I have?” she asked as she focused on meeting her Papa’s pace down the stairs so she wouldn’t fall.

“Three,” he said shortly, “One for general studies, another for Italian, and a third for etiquette.”

"What's etiquette?" she asked, as she held Principessa Snowbell closer to her chest.

"Etiquette is the set of rules we have in a polite society," he explained.

"Like manners?" she asked.

"Manners are a part of it. Your tutor will explain more of it to you," he said, pushing off the responsibility of explaining it to her. 

_Three tutors...that's a lot._ Marilyn had never had more than one teacher a year before. There were three second-grade teachers at her old school, and she was unfortunate enough to get stuck with Mr. Morgan. Ms. Harper and Mrs. Beecham were two very nice and _very pretty_ teachers, and more importantly, they were girls too! She didn’t know why it was important to her that her teachers were girls, but it was. _Even Mama wasn’t too pleased that I ended up with Mr. Morgan_!

This was why she had to ask, “Are any of my teachers' girls?”

“Your etiquette teacher is a woman,” he smiled as they reached the end of the stairs, “I think you’ll like her.”

 _I certainly hope so._ Marilyn never particularly liked Mr. Morgan, nor was she excited at the prospect of having _two_ boy teachers. _Mama always said it was weird that men wanted to be teachers for little kids_. Marilyn pouted, she was not excited at all. “What time will they be here?” she asked, at least hoping she’d have a bit of time to play.

“Your first two teachers will be here at one,” Papa said and Marilyn bristled.

 _They’ll be here at_ ** _one_** _?!_ “But it’s…” Marilyn looked to the side where the clock with actual numbers was and counted in her head, “nine in the morning now! That means they won’t be here for…,” she counted again with her fingers, “three… _four_ hours!”

“I’m glad you know how to tell time. That’s very good for your age,” he complimented, completely ignoring her annoyance at being up early for no reason at all.

“Why did I have to get up at seven in the morning?!” she asked in annoyance.

“It’s important to keep a schedule, Vittoria. Structure is important for girls your age,” he said thoughtfully as he took the kitten from her arms and put her down.

Marilyn thought that was, as her mom used to say, “a load of shit.” She went so far as to voice her opinion, a dangerous idea, but she spoke up nonetheless, “Mama let me sleep in until ten on Saturdays. She’d sleep in until twelve…”

Papa tutted, “And leave you unsupervised for two hours? That’s not responsible-,”

“Mama was the best Mama in the world,” she said loudly and defensively, “She wanted me to get a lot of sleep and she taught me to take care of myself. I’m the only girl in my grade who can tie my shoes, make my breakfast, and get dressed by myself!”

Papa looked at her, his eyes filled with pity, “Little girls shouldn’t have to take care of themselves. That’s their mother’s job principessa.”

Marilyn stuck out her bottom lip. _He sounds like the fishwives, the Marks’, the secretaries, and everyone else. It’s good to be able to take care of yourself. Everyone’s so mean about it._ It took everything in her power to hold her words in. It was hard because she could feel it pushing against her lips, her struggling to hold back and not say, _‘then what’s_ ** _your_** _job?’_ Technically he was doing it now, but _where was he all of this time_? He took her silence as a sign of him winning, but he hadn’t. _Until my dying day, Mama will be called the best in the world._

She begrudgingly let Papa lead her into the living room where he gave her the book of fairy tales he read to her on her first day and told her to read to Principessa Snowbell. When she tried to tell him that she couldn’t read in Italian, and omitted that she couldn’t read that well in English either, he told her it had pictures and it’d be good practice. So for the next few hours, she stared at the book in frustration as she tried to pronounce the words. It was very lonely, even with Papa in the far corner of the room doing adult things and Principessa Snowbell snoozing and snuggling on her lap. She finally got a reprieve from her loneliness when her first tutor arrived.

She was partially excited, but that feeling was quickly extinguished when she met her first teacher. His name was Mr. Buccola and he did not look friendly. The man looked older than Mr. Sawyer and had a dark demeanor. Mr. Buccola was a tall gangly man dressed sharply in a charcoal three-piece suit and looked like a funeral director. Marilyn likened him very much to Lurch Addams from _The Addams Family,_ with his dark sunken eyes and slicked black hair that was obviously dyed.

He didn’t smile once and Marilyn personally didn’t think he was capable of it. There were no smile lines or crows feet to show any evidence of him ever smiling (or having any sort of positive emotion), and she could hardly believe that Papa would’ve hired someone who wasn’t nice. Papa spoke in Italian when he greeted Mr. Lurch, which she decided that she would call him when he wasn’t around, and introduced her as Vittoria. “Hi,” she said in a small and shy voice, gripping her Papa’s hand a little more tightly.

Mr. Lurch nodded to her and then ignored her immediately as he spoke with Papa in Italian again before Papa turned to her, “You’ll go with him now to take some tests. I’ll be in my study doing some work until it’s time to fetch you. Be good principessa,” he said with a smile and kissed her on her curls before leaving her side.

She could hardly believe he left her so easily! And with a strange man too! Marilyn looked nervously towards her new teacher as he snappily spoke, “Well come along. We don’t have time for you to stand around and do nothing.”

 _You’re already on my “I hate you” list._ She begrudgingly went with him and suffered through a series of tests on reading, writing, spelling, math, and Italian history. Marilyn considered herself a nice person, but she wanted to throw her shoe at him as he tutted when he looked over her tests when she had finished. “American schools either have very low standards or you just never performed well…” he said in a thick Italian accent as he stared at her tests and shook his head with displeasure.

“I’m not stupid,” she said while grinding her teeth.

“I hope not,” he said as he looked over at her condescendingly, “I don’t like having my time wasted.”

“I don’t think you have much to do in your free time,” she whispered so quietly that it might as well have been a thought.

“Your reading and maths scores are quite atrocious,” he said in a tone that made her think the word atrocious couldn’t mean anything good, “You’ll have to practice quite a bit outside of our sessions. I’ll let your father know. Now tell me, do you read outside of the classroom?”

She didn’t want to answer and she could feel her face grow red as it heated in embarrassment. He smirked and apparently her expression was all he needed, “As I expected,” he said, “You’ll need to start reading thirty minutes every night. Weekends included,” he commanded.

 _I hope you get hit by a truck._ “You’ll be useless in the classroom if you aren’t practicing outside of it,” he continued.

 _And then have animals eat you up off of the street._ “Is there anything else,” she growled before adding, “sir?”

“Yes. Separate your time between reading in Italian and English,” he said before smirking triumphantly, “Both need work.”

“I just moved here a week ago!” she spoke defensively, “I didn’t even know I was Itali-,” but she was then cut off.

“I won’t hear any excuses. Just do as I say, Signorina Borghese,” he responded impatiently.

“My last name is Winslow,” she snapped.

He narrowed his eyes, “Your file says Vittoria Borghese and that’s how your father refers to you, so that’s what I will call you. Our time is up. Begin your reading,” he said with a smirk and in the most aggravating and condescending tone, smoothly said, “ _Signorina Borghese_.”

Mr. Lurch left the room, not bothering to wait for her to follow. With a huff she found him speaking in Italian with her Papa who looked none too pleased about her school report. Papa looked at her and his look of disapproval and disappointment quickly made her scowl replace itself with self-consciousness. With a few more words, Papa helped see Mr. Lurch out before looking at the insecure seven-year-old. “You will practice your reading and math facts before your sessions, in between your sessions, and before you go to bed. It’s quite unacceptable for you to be so far behind,” he said sternly.

Her face heated up and she did her best to contain her sniffles, “I’m sorry Papa.”

Papa sighed before taking her hand and leading her into the kitchen for a light snack. She was only able to play with Principessa Snowbell for a few minutes before Papa put a book in her hands, that was thankfully in English and required her to read until her next tutor came. She did her best to sound out words using the word rules Mr. Morgan taught her, but she’d never been great at it and in a fit of frustration, threw the book across the room. The thump was covered by a knock on the door and all she could think is, _great…another tutor._

Her next tutor introduced himself as Davide Venturi and she had already decided that she liked him much better than Mr. Lurch. He couldn’t have been much older than Mama and his youth was evident. He had a boyish round face that was so pale with the exception of his red rosy cheeks. Mr. Venturi had a full head of brown hair that looked super soft, and warm hazel eyes that looked big behind the lens of his circular glasses. He wore a brown suit with a white undershirt and red tie. When Papa introduced her and pushed her forward, she smiled shyly, “Hi.”

“Ciao Signorina Borghese. Tuo padre aveva ragione. Sei una ragazza molto bella,” he smiled, taking her hand and kissing it.

Marilyn tried her best to be polite and not rip her hand away. As polite as he was, she still didn’t like to be touched by anyone but her Mama and Papa. Marilyn continued to smile, “Grazie,” she replied graciously.

Marilyn knew enough to know that ragazza meant girl and bella meant beautful. And she knew that she was a girl and beautiful, and since she was the only beautiful girl in the room, she knew he was complimenting her! Mr. Venturi smiled enthusiastically, “Vedo che capisce già un po 'di italiano. Bambina intelligente!”

 _Intelligente means intelligent_ , and since he was still looking at her, she decided that he was speaking of her and complimenting her once again, “Grazie Sig. Venturi.”

She looked up at her Papa whose earlier expression of disappointment had disappeared and he was now looking at her proudly. He replied to her tutor in Italian with a smile of pride before he once again handed her over to a total stranger and left her side, though she was much less nervous this time. Unlike Mr. Lurch, Sig. Venturi spent more time introducing himself to her. In fact, that’s what the entirety of their lesson was. And it was all in English!

Sig. Venturi asked her about herself and what subjects she was interested in. He decided to call her by her name, well call her by Vittoria, instead of addressing her as Signorina Borghese. He was nice and didn’t get bored when he listened to her speak on and on about Sleeping Beauty. It was really nice because they got to leave the room that was designated the “classroom area” so she could show him her dolls and introduce him to Principessa Snowbell. She even learned the word for cat! _Gatta_!

Sig. Venturi then asked her how she liked Italy, which she couldn’t really answer because, with the exception of the drive from the airport and her time in church, she hadn’t seen much of it. Marilyn went on to brag about all of the Italian words she knew, and the new ones she had learned from Signora Giordano. It really was a shame when the lesson ended and she had to say goodbye to him, but she felt a lot better, not great but better, when he kissed her hand this time. Marilyn really wished he had stayed for dinner, but she had an appointment with her next tutor.

It was getting late and she was quite tired, but Papa wouldn’t let her nap. Instead, he had her read. Again. _Stupid Mr. Lurch._ As her eyes began to droop, Papa called her to greet her etiquette teacher.

With a huff, she got up and with as little care as possible, tossed her book aside. When she entered the foyer, the first words that tumbled out of her mouth were “You’re very pretty.”

And it was true. The woman had dark black hair that was wavy and fell to the middle of her back. At her comment, the woman smiled and it looked so perfect on her! She had a face that was meant to smile, and it suited her hazel eyes so well. There was so much gentleness and kindness in them that Marilyn immediately felt safe and happy. Like every other adult, she had seen in Italy, not that she had seen many, she had a sharp and angular bone structure but it wasn’t as dramatic. “Thank you, my dear,” she giggled in a very familiar accent.

Marilyn gasped, “You’re American?!”

“I grew up there yes, but I have dual citizenship. That means I can live in both places. Like you,” she said with a smile, her hazel eyes glittering.

Marilyn grinned. _Someone else understands_! “I lived there until a week ago,” she said before feeling a heaviness begin to settle in her chest, “Before my Mama died.”

The woman’s eyes widened and her mouth opened before Papa interrupted, “She’s still processing it,” he said as he put her hands on her shoulders, “Tragic but we’re blessed that we still have each other.”

Marilyn’s shoulders were slumped before Papa subtly gripped them to get her attention, “Isn’t that right Vittoria?”

She looked up at him and saw him stare at her expectantly. Marilyn nodded, “Yes.”

The woman closed her mouth and nodded awkwardly, and clutched her briefcase tightly, “Right, well…I think it’s time to share a little about myself. It’s impolite for me not to,” she chuckled more confidently, “My name is Alessia Sagesse, but you’ll call me Signorina Sagesse, hm?”

Marilyn tilted her head in confusion, “I thought Signorina was for little girls.”

“It can be used for young women too,” she said before adding the next part uncomfortably, “Especially if they’re unmarried.”

“Oh…” Marilyn said, before asking, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Vittoria,” Papa said sternly, “That isn’t a polite question to ask, nor is it any of your business.”

“But she’s pretty!” Marilyn replied as if that made it okay.

Signorina Sagesse intervened before Papa could issue another reprimand. “It’s quite alright. It’s just something we’ll talk about in our etiquette classes,” she said with a graceful smile and a small chuckle.

“Then I think you better get started,” her Papa said before gently pushing her forward towards Signorina Sagesse, “Be good principessa.”

Marilyn’s shoes clacked against the floor as the young woman raised her eyebrows, “Shall we move to the classroom?”

Marilyn nodded dumbly and started leading the way to the classroom, and opened the doors for the beautiful woman. “Thank you, my dear,” she said as she put a brown case on the small table.

Marilyn stared at her as she opened it up, watching Miss Sagesse toss her black hair behind her shoulders as she began to pull out dining objects. She hated standing there in silence and awkwardly, so she broke it with a question, “Did you meet my Papa when you were in America Sg.na Sagesse?”

The woman spun around to answer her, “Yes, we were friends a while back,” and spoke again before Marilyn could ask anything else, “Which is why I was incredibly excited when he told me, not only was he back in Italy but he had a brilliant and beautiful daughter he wanted me to meet and teach.”

Marilyn frowned, “My other teacher told me I was stupid.”

Signorina Sagesse frowned and looked at her with sympathy, “He sounds awfully rude. But you should know rude people typically say untrue things. Besides if you’re anything like your Papa, then you must be incredibly smart. You are definitely as beautiful as he is. Don’t you agree?”

Marilyn nodded politely, “I have my Mama’s eyes though…”

“Hm,” Signorina Sagesse smiled but made no comment, “Shall we get started?”

Marilyn obediently nodded and sat down where the woman gestured to. Signorina Sagesse was very polite and patient with her. Whenever Marilyn asked “why?”, she always explained. It didn’t matter that Marilyn asked close to fifty questions. Sg.na Sagesse answered every single one of them. Today, she taught her the basics of table manners because apparently the young woman was staying for dinner and wanted to see her in the actual setting.

Papa insisted Marilyn entertain Sg.na Sagesse while he made dinner, and that’s exactly what she did. Marilyn introduced her to Principessa Snowbell, her pride, and joy! She stroked her snoozing kitten on her head as she sat politely, like Ms. Sagesse taught her, and talked about her life with Papa. “Your Papa has always been very generous.”

“He’s like a King!” she said as she showed off her doll, “I named my doll Papa and pretended he was a king and I was his princess. I didn’t know about Papa until a few weeks ago, but then I met him and he was exactly like my fairy tale. He calls me principessa.”

Marilyn stood up when Papa came in to signal it was time for dinner because according to Ms. Sagesse, that’s what you were supposed to do when an adult walked into the room you were in. Marilyn wished she could say the dinner was peaceful, but she was watched the entire time which put a heaviness on her chest and made her nauseous. Her appetite was waning as Papa and Ms. Sagesse inspected every movement and action she performed. Marilyn was acutely aware of any mistake she made as Ms. Sagesse frowned while Papa’s mouth subtly twitched. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed, but she knew her Papa. Marilyn finally let out the breath she was holding when dinner ended.

“Nearly perfect,” Sg.na Sagesse complimented with a smile towards Marilyn.

The heaviness was replaced with a light fluffy feeling from the compliment. Marilyn returned the smile until she heard, “Nearly.”

 _And the heavy feeling is back._ Marilyn frowned when she saw Papa wasn’t completely happy with her performance. “I-,” she began before she was cut off.

“We’ll iron out all of the kinks though,” Ms. Sagesse said, still smiling, “Won’t we Vittoria?”

Marilyn looked over at the woman, comforted by her defense. “Yes Signorina,” she replied politely.

Her tutor winked at her, which made the heaviness residing in her chest disappear and a smile creep back on her face. Unfortunately, Papa and Signorina Sagesse did what adults do and talked for a long time until finally, her teacher made her way to the front door, bidding both of them farewell. When the door was closed, Papa immediately looked at her, “What do you think of Sg.na Sagesse?”

Marilyn smiled, “She’s nice and pretty.”

“She is,” Papa said before grunting as he hoisted Marilyn onto his hip and giving her a wet kiss on her cheek, “Much like you principessa!”

Marilyn giggled as Papa took her upstairs for her bedtime routine. She was too tired to protest any part of the process and snuggly leaned against her Papa’s chest as he read a fairy tale aloud to her in Italian. When he was done reading, he stayed with her and stroked her head as her eyes closed. Her body was ready to fall into a deep sleep, so she was a little surprised when he started talking, “Vittoria?”

“Hm?” she mumbled, her eyes still closed and her head still resting on his chest.

“What did you and Sg.na Sagesse talk about when I left you two alone?” he asked in a calm voice.

“Manners and stuff,” she murmured in response, not totally aware of what she was saying.

“Anything else?” he prodded as he gently rubbed her cheek.

“No,” she slurred, as her sense of hearing began to leave her.

He was silent for a moment, and for an instant, she thought he was content with her answer... until he spoke again with a chilling quiet voice, “Did she ask about your mother?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really loved the last two chapters and this one seems...mmm...I don't love it but I'm excited to introduce new characters. I apologize if I get any of the Italian wrong. I'm always open to corrections! Thank you for your support and I hope you had a good holiday!


	14. Happy Birthday Vittoria Borghese

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As she struggles to find a sense of normalcy and adjust to a new environment, Marilyn is still looking forward to turning eight-years-old and celebrating with her Papa at her first-ever birthday party!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Child gets popped on the mouth

The mention of Mama pulled her from slipping into the bliss of unconsciousness. She struggled but managed to open her eyes, and used them to stare up at her Papa in confusion. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His face wasn’t any different and looked to be the same expression he used when reading the paper. “No Papa,” she shook her head, "Why? Did she know Mama?"

Marilyn had never met any of Mama's friends, mainly because she assumed she never had them. _People didn't always think it was easy to like Mama_. Papa was quiet before answering, "I don't believe they'd ever met."

"Oh," Marilyn whispered disappointedly; she would've learned to learn more about her Mama, "Papa, how did you meet Signorina Sagesse?"

"We were friends when we both lived in America and met through our work," he said and left it at that.

"Oh okay," she mumbled, disappointed at his uninteresting answer, before asking her Papa a very important question, "Papa...how did you and Mama meet?"

Papa tilted his heads toward her and smiled, "Your mother never told you?"

Marilyn shook her head and looked at him with her wide soft green eyes that she had inherited from her mom. Papa grinned, "I'll give you a shortened version because you have to go to bed," he said and waited for her to nod in understanding, "It was a beautiful starry night. I had to go to a charity benefit, so it was a special occasion for me to dress in my nicest clothes..."

"Like going to a ball!" she said excitedly, "I bet you looked like a handsome king!"

Papa smiled, "That's right principessa. And it all took place in a large ballroom, but even though there were several people, I was very lonely," he continued.

Marilyn frowned, "I was dancing with several people, but none of them kept my attention. Until I saw your mother. She was beautiful, dressed in a lovely red dress. Our eyes met across the room, and I was immediately entranced," Papa paused and looked at her confused expression, "Entranced means to be filled with wonder."

"Oh," she said in understanding.

"Yes, but I was entranced with her soft green eyes. The same eyes I'm looking at right now in my dear dolcezza," he smiled as he stroked her cheek, "I told her I always wanted to be able to see them because they were so entrancing. And now I can."

Marilyn smiled at him softly, a warm fluffy feeling settling in her chest. "That's so romantic," she said with a dreamy sigh.

Papa smiled at her response and continued, "I remember making my way across the room to her when I saw her being harassed by another man, which is when I stepped in and offered my arm for a dance. So she could escape."

 _Like a knight in shining armor._ "Then what happened?" she asked eagerly.

"She took my arm and we danced all night, whispering sweet nothings to each other. She called me Leonello and I called her _dolcezza_ ," he whispered the last word fondly.

"Like what you call me?" Marilyn clarified excitedly.

"Only the sweetest nicknames for the sweetest ladies," he grinned, "We fell madly in love that night."

Marilyn gasped, captivated by her parent's love story that could only have been found in her most fantastical fairy tales. She whispered, "Whoa."

Papa chuckled, "But that's enough stories for tonight principessa. It's time for you to go to bed."

Papa pulled the covers over her a little more tightly and kissed her on her forehead. "Good night daddy," she said clearly as she snuggled tightly underneath her blankets.

Papa smiled at her and turn off her lights, "Good night dolcezza."

He softly closed the door and walked away. Marilyn waited for his footsteps to fade away completely before she threw off her covers and marched over to turn on the lights. When she was satisfied, she went to the corner where her barbie dolls were lying carelessly scattered on the ground. It was time to tell a story with her Papa doll and Mama doll.

***

The next few weeks were difficult for Marilyn. She learned that her schooling would begin a lot earlier in the day than she thought it would. They started at eight in the morning, which meant she had to be up at six and then classes ended a little bit before one, except for her etiquette lessons that ended right before dinner. When she wasn’t in class, she was reading or practicing her addition. It was all day every day with no breaks _._

She had never really loved school nor had she been good at it, so her lessons with Mr. Lurch were like facing everything she was bad at all at once. _I don't even get a recess!_ And really, she did try to stay focused on her studies, but she was so behind she couldn’t help but get frustrated and cry. Mr. Morgan would just sigh and give up, but Mr. Lurch was _so mean_! He’d criticize her for her stupidity, slowness, and coming from America.

After taking his verbal abuse, she’d have her scheduled breakdown where she demanded her Papa and would scream until he came to get her. The first couple of times, Papa came but then he got frustrated with **her** _. Even though it was Mr. Lurch who hurt_ ** _my_** _feelings_! After the third or fourth time, they had a “discussion” about her classroom behavior so she stopped calling on him. Papa must’ve talked with Mr. Lurch about his behavior too, because he wasn’t as abusive to her after that, though he still was in Marilyn’s most accurate words, a “meanie.”

Marilyn learned to save her emotions for her other teachers who let her cry for the first few minutes of class. She knew she could get away with it since they were nicer and wouldn't tell on her. _After all, my birthday is coming up, and I have to be good._ Sig. Venturi listened to her as she complained about Mr. Lurch and how mean he was before he’d stop her so they could begin their lesson. He was a very nice man and he made learning a new language fun! It became easier to speak it, and even though she didn’t always know what he and Papa were saying to her word for word, she could figure it out by certain words they used that she already knew or was learning.

Sg.na Sagesse was her favorite though. _No offense to Sig. Venturi, but all of the offense to Mr. Lurch!_ The woman was nicer and prettier than any other of her teachers in America and was especially better than Mr. Lurch. Sg.na Sagesse let her keep Principessa Snowbell in the room with them, so the kitten would comfort Marilyn. That really helped and she stopped crying so much in her etiquette classes.

Marilyn’s favorite thing about Sg.na Sagesse was that she asked Marilyn if she’d like a hug when she was crying, instead of just hugging her. While Marilyn could always expect this from her favorite teacher, she learned the same couldn’t be said for everyone else. Sg.na Sagesse said a lot of Italians show physical affection and Marilyn would have to get used to it, which soured her mood for the rest of the day. Still, the woman was likable and Papa liked her a lot too. He talked with her at the end of every lesson and invited her to dinner, so she could watch her favorite pupil, _her words, not mine,_ in a dinner setting.

Dinners became a lot less stressful when she got the hang of table and meal etiquette. It soon became her favorite part of her lessons because really, Marilyn saw very few people other than her tutors. There were people who came in and spoke with Papa in his office, but she was never allowed to meet them. She could hear them speak but she wasn’t allowed out of her classroom when guests were over. Principessa Snowbell, Papa, Sg.na Sagesse, and Sig. Venturi ( _not you Mr. Lurch, you meanie!_ ) were her only companions during the week, until Sundays.

She never thought she’d say this, but she _loved_ Sundays. No, she couldn’t understand what was going on and the church was still scary but Sg.ra Giordano and the other old ladies spoiled her with attention and affection. These poor women had no granddaughters, so Marilyn took it upon herself to fulfill the role. Yes her cheeks were pinched and her face was smothered when they pressed her against their large chests during a hug, but she got candy every single time. _It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make._

 _Really, I’m the most important person in that cathedral_. Not that she’d say that aloud again. The first and only time she had said it, she had said it in church and Papa popped her on the mouth and scolded her, “You are not more important than Christ.”

Papa sent her to confession and she was told to do sixteen Our Father’s and twelve Hail Mary’s by the priest. She had to do it in front of Papa so he’d be sure she wasn’t cheating, which made her roll her eyes internally. After she did that, Papa forced her to read Bible verses (in English) the rest of the day and sent her to bed without dessert. Really, she thought it was a bit of an overreaction when he told her that she’d have a Bible studies teacher come in on Fridays, especially when Papa had told her many times that she was the “belle of the ball” in church. _Whatever that means._

Still, her “devotion” to religion made her even more lovable to the women in the church, so she wouldn’t complain much (and neither did Papa). Plus she learned new songs during Bible study, which made her feel really good because she had always been really good at singing! _It was the one thing Mama would compliment me on._ She couldn’t help but use her reputation in church and in the community to her advantage because as late November turned to early December, she began to make a conscious effort to stop her “tantrums”, as Mr. Lurch called it.

Her birthday and Christmas were coming up, so she had to be good to get what she wanted. For a while whenever she was upset or frustrated by Mr. Lurch, she’d go into the garden with a glass and shine it on the ants and watch them burn, pretending it was him instead. Yes, it was mean but it made her feel better. _I’ll just confess to it in confession later._

It worked in her favor though, because Papa was very pleased that she had stopped her meltdowns in Lurch’s class and was doing better in her schooling. _And really, Papa being happy is all that matters_. Papa told her he was going to throw her a big party, but she told him she preferred a small one. _I don’t really want a party at all. Everyone would think they could hug, kiss, and touch me._ Papa insisted and then she insisted…and then he insisted again.

It was another long argument with him and he seemed to realize that his logic could not compete with a seven-year-old girl’s determination that she was right. “We are celebrating the day of your birth principessa. The miracle of life itself and your entrance to the world,” he began, “We should share it with those around us.”

 _He means the adults around us._ She didn’t particularly feel like being the only child at her own birthday party. “Papa,” she said as she widened her soft green eyes, “I just want to share it with **you**.”

 _I’m so good at this._ Their conversation was like a game of chess. One would make a strategic move, and then the other. Marilyn felt pretty good about her chances of winning this game.

“My dear, what kind of father would I be if I didn’t give you a proper birthday celebration?”

“Mama never gave me one and I was still happy,” she lied.

Marilyn could count on one hand and not even use all of her fingers the number of times Mama remembered her birthday. In fact, she remembered having to correct Mama when she was talking to a stranger and made an off-hand comment about Marilyn’s age. It took two months after her birthday for Mama to realize she had a seven-year-old. All of this, for some reason, bothered Papa. It shouldn’t have, because really, she was just glad that someone remembered and gave a damn. _Sorry, God._

Papa’s charming face went blank, which was never a good sign. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, figuring his displeasure was aimed towards her.

“It’s nothing you did darling,” he said as he got up out of his chair and walked around his desk to stand in front of her, “I’m so sorry your mother failed you in that way.”

She opened her mouth in protest, but he stopped her by putting his heavy hands on her shoulders. She felt her knees buckle under the weight, “It’s true Vittoria. You’re a special little girl and your life deserves to be celebrated. I promise we will have a grand party where everyone will celebrate you then you and I will have our own time to share with one another. How does that sound?”

 _It’s not what I want, but it’s the best I’ll get._ She smiled and in her best business person voice, imitating the ones she’d seen on television, said “Sir, you drive a hard bargain,” she didn’t know what bargain meant, “but you have yourself a deal.”

Papa laughed at her antics, which caused her to grin. _I love making Papa smile,_ she thought warmly. _It’s the best thing in the world._

_***_

The tables had turned. Papa had been sound asleep and, by the look on his face, in the middle of a very good dream.He had had a big day before, bossing people around about her party, and she knew he was looking forward to sleeping in an extra hour, not that she’d let him. Marilyn Flora Winslow walked into his room, holding her Papa doll, with conviction and confidence, and turned on the light. Papa grunted and with lightning reflexes grabbed for something under his pillow before stopping when he heard the small voice say, “It’s my birthday now!”

Whatever was under his pillow, didn’t come out. He just groaned and rubbed his face with his large hands before he smiled, “Is it?”

“It is!” Marilyn shrieked.

“Are you quite sure?” he teased.

Marilyn nodded fiercely, making her way towards his bed, “Uh-huh!”

She climbed in beside Papa after he peeled back the covers, a sign that she was welcome to lie beside him. Papa growled and hugged her, placing quick kisses around her face, and in a good-nature, she struggled to get out of his embrace. “Ewww Papa,” she laughed, “You have morning breath!”

Papa smiled against the side of her face, but didn’t stop, “It stinks Papa!”

He laughed and finally loosened his arms around her, which finally gave her a reprieve from his attack of affection that left her trying to catch her breath. He smiled at her, “Happy Birthday Vittoria.”

Despite being tired, Papa woke up and began to spoil her. He, to his great reluctance and distaste, indulged her wish for chocolate chip pancakes. Marilyn had developed a fondness for them from when she lived with the Marks’, not that she could appreciate it at the time. Papa never asked where and when she’s had them before, which she was grateful for because she wasn’t allowed to be thinking about the Marks. _I wonder if they’re thinking of me today…_

Papa was really nice and had canceled her morning lesson with Mr. Lurch. Yes, she still had her other classes, but it was the one with Mr. Lurch that she cared about avoiding. The morning was absolutely perfect. Papa taught her to dance, or at least tried to, and had her stand on his feet. Marilyn couldn’t take the lessons seriously anymore when Principessa Snowbell began attacking their ankles.

Wanting to be rid of the cat, Papa allowed Principessa Snowbell to stay with her during her Italian lessons. It was an awesome lesson and she was able to speak almost the entire time in Italian! Sig. Venturi was super thoughtful and told her that although he couldn’t make her party- she hadn’t known he was even invited- that he left her a gift. Tragically, she had to open it later tonight. Sg.na Sagesse said she’d be at her party, and was excited to give her her gift. Really, it was quite annoying that they’d tell her they left her a gift but then followed it up with “You have to wait.”

Marilyn’s Bible Studies teacher left her a new rosary, deciding it was time for her to move away from the plastic ones. She said thank you, and couldn’t help but feel really grown up. _I am. I’m eight now._ The only rough part of the day was when Papa forced her into a dress that was itchy, which he ignored her criticism on, and spent an hour doing her hair. By the time that was over, she was fussy.

Despite being nearly a grown-up, in her opinion at least, she was still eight years old and wasn’t used to be put through so much without a nap. Right before her party, which began at 8 o’clock but the guests arrived at 8:45 PM, Papa gave her a lecture about her behavior and told her to be a “perfect principessa, si?”

Marilyn nodded nervously, unsure of her own abilities, but thankfully Sg.na Sagesse said she’d be there to correct any mistake. The party was extravagant, though not really to the taste of an eight-year-old, however, it was suited for a princess. _All of the noble families came to celebrate the princess’birthday._ Her fantasy entertained her as the party droned on.

Signora Giordano, Sg.na Sagesse, and a few church members were the only familiar faces she could see. Until she saw one that immediately made her face heat up. He was late, but his presence was annoyingly noticeable. “What are you doing here?” she growled to Mr. Charles Sawyer.

He looked at her with partial amusement but with a rivaling amount of disdain, “And here I heard that you’d begun your etiquette lessons. Or was I mistaken?” he sneered.

She narrowed her eyes, “Why are you here?”

He rolled his eyes and picked one of the snacks, that Papa constantly reminded her were called hors d’oeuvres. Not that she’d remember. “I’m here to celebrate my best friend’s daughter’s birthday,” he said in an annoyed tone.

Clearly, he was as happy to be here as she was to have him here. She cocked her head to the side, “Papa is your best friend?”

“Yes,” he said as his eyes searched the crowd.

“Why?” she asked.

“We’ve known each other for a long time. I-,” he began before she cut him off. 

“It’s just that Papa seems to have,”she searched for the word Sg.na Sagesse liked to use, “taste.”

Sawyer narrowed his eyes at her and got down on her level, “You’re a rotten little child. If you were my daughter, I’d teach you some manners,” he growled.

“How can you teach me something you don’t even have?” she said sweetly.

“Let me tell you something, you little shi-,” he began before they heard a jovial voice call out.

“Charlie!”

Mr. Sawyer straightened up and put on a pleasant mask, “Leonardo!” he said quickly, giving a fake laugh as he was trying to cover his rat ass, “Didn’t see you there!”

Papa chuckled and greeted his friend by kissing his cheeks. “How are you? Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“I'm in good spirits tonight, thank you for asking. And may I just say, a fantastic party as always Leonardo,” he schmoozed.

Marilyn scowled at his fakery. _He could give the fishwives a run for their money._ Papa grinned at Sawyer and surprised her when he hoisted her up onto his hip, ignoring her little shriek, “Nothing but the best for my little girl.”

Marilyn wrapped her arms around her Papa’s neck and smiled sweetly at her Papa and then looked towards Sawyer. _Two can play the game._ She did her best to do what her Papa did and send a message with only her eyes, which was _Go ahead, Mr. Sawyer. Finish what you were going to say._

“And what were you two talking about, hm?” Papa asked, still smiling.

Marilyn grinned and looked over at a paling Sawyer, “Mr. Sawyer was just going to give me a compliment."

“Oh?” Papa smiled and turned his head towards his friend and Marilyn’s nemesis.

Sawyer was still smiling, but his eyes looked like he wanted to kill her. _I feel the same._ “Just that she’s a little shiiiiining star,” he hissed between his teeth, “An absolute angel.”

Papa sighed, “She is, isn’t she?”

Papa gazed at her with a fondness that made her immediately feel comfortable. She leaned her head against his shoulder, partially out of her affection for her Papa and the other part to sell the performance. “I am so grateful you brought her home for me. She’s the greatest gift, no?”

Sawyer looked like his inner lawyer was ready to debate that statement harder than any case he’d ever fought before, but he played the hand he had. “She is. I’m so glad I could reunite you two,” he said with pain in his eyes that made Marilyn’s light up with joy.

“He’s the best Papa in the world,” she said, nuzzling her head on her Papa’s shoulder.

Papa kissed her blonde curls and carried her around on his hip as he discussed boring adult stuff with people. Much to her dismay, Sawyer stayed for the cake and presents. She expected it was to please her Papa and although she hated his presence, she enjoyed watching him squirm.

Marilyn loved the cake! It was creamy and chocolatey, and even though she didn’t know exactly what it was or remembered what Papa had called it, it was the best she’d ever had in her life. But the highlight of the occasion was opening her presents. She had never received birthday presents before unless you counted the time where her first-grade teacher gave her a yo-yo for a gift. Marilyn only really received gifts once a year on Christmas, her last present being her Papa doll. But this year, she had more than one!

Sg.ra Giordano got her a pink borsetta that she could take to church and put her chocolates in. It was a beautiful light pink with white lace covering it in a frilly pattern. The white strap was long so she could carry it on her shoulder. There weren’t enough thank you’s she could give the woman for giving her such a personal gift. Sg.na Sagesse gifted her a set of bejeweled hairpieces that were fit for a princess! It impressed her as much as it impressed Papa, and she actually allowed Sg.na Sagesse to put a sparkly golden beaded one in her hair to match her glittery golden dress.

Sig. Venturi had bought her the Italian translation of Sleeping Beauty that she could use to practice her reading. The art was super pretty and although she hated reading, she decided that this would make it much more enjoyable. One of the church ladies, whose name she could not remember, gave her a book of Bible stories in Italian. For someone who hated reading, she sure got a lot of books. She showed her gratitude but believed a part of the overwhelming amount of books she received was due to her father’s meddling. Other gifts she received included an actual bicycle! Then there were dolls, dolls, and more dolls. _I like more than just dolls…_

Marilyn didn’t complain about any of the gifts though, even though there were ones where she wanted to. That bastard Sawyer had gifted her a beautiful dress that she knew would be the most uncomfortable thing she’d ever wear and would be her own personal hell. And if she thought she could burn it when no one was looking, she thought wrong because Papa jovially announced she’d wear it on Christmas. “What do you say to Uncle Charlie?” he prodded when she was quiet for too long.

 _Uncle Charlie…_ She looked across the room at the smug bastard. _What do I say? How about, I hate you. I’ll kill you._ Instead, she decided it was in her best interest to swallow her pride and smile, “Thank you, Uncle Charlie! I really love it,” she ground out.

“Anything for you,” he said in a sweet voice that only she could hear the fakeness behind, “Just make sure to keep it clean, hm?”

He smiled at her, but his eyes said, _that’s for the car._ Her eyes met his and replied with, _I hope you get hit by a bus._ “Of course _Uncle Charlie,_ ” she said before sweetly adding, “I can’t wait to give you a gift that shows how _thankful_ I really am.”

Sawyer’s jaw tightened, but his fake smile remained on his face. When Sawyer looked away, she began counting. _Okay, 6 + 4 gives me, seven…eight…nine…ten! Then I take that ten and add, Christmas is on the twenty-fifth, so I add…fifteen! So I add fifteen and four together which gives me…nineteen. Nineteen days to come up with a special present for Mr. Sawyer._ Marilyn puffed out her chest in pride. _I just did mind math!_ She’d tell Papa, but she doubted that he’d like why she was counting down until Christmas.

Finally, the last gift came from the most important person in the room, next to herself obviously, which was from Papa. It was the biggest box and it was wrapped in the shiniest bright red wrapping paper that she swore she could see her reflection in. The present was topped with an over-the-top golden lacy bow that she couldn’t wait to rip off. Papa set it down in front of her, and as she tried pulling it closer to her, she realized how heavy it was. _That must mean it’s expensive!_ Seeing her struggle, he inched it towards her and gave her a kiss on her blonde curls, and whispered, “Buon compleanno mia principessa.”

Marilyn looked up at her Papa with adoration in her eyes. She had never been happier in her whole entire life, and she hadn’t even opened her gift! Papa nodded towards the gift and she eagerly began to rip the paper off. The sound of it tearing was the most satisfying sound she’d ever heard, and she made sure it was as loud as possible as she tore into the gift. She grinned as more inches of the gift were exposed; _box, record player, slideshow…_ she gasped aloud, “A Show ’N Tell! Oh my gosh, it’s a Show ’N Tell! Papa!”

Her face was in pain as her grin strained her cheeks, but she couldn’t help but squeal and look up at her Papa, “You got me a Show ’N Tell!”

Marilyn sat up and wrapped her arms around his waist in a big hug. Never would she _ever_ had dreamed of owning one or being gifted one! She would’ve been just grateful for a doll or if Mama remembered her birthday because these…these were for rich and cool kids with rich and cool parents, and she and Mama certainly weren’t either of those things. Papa chuckled, “Do you like it?”

Marilyn furiously nodded her head, “Uh-huh,” she gasped before crying, “Thank you, Papa! Thank you!”

She didn’t let go of him before loudly proclaiming, “I love you!”

Papa pet her hair and murmured “I love you too” in response as he gently peeled her away from him, as he showed her there was still more to unwrap. The _Show ’N Tell_ included popular Disney stories, the most important one being _Sleeping Beauty_! _Yes, there are some school ones but there is an equal number of fun ones too_! It was the greatest day of her life and it took all her strength to push away the thought of, _it’s because Mama isn’t here. Because she died. If she hadn’t died, I’d never know Papa…and I’d never get these birthday presents._

Her eyes became misty and Papa must’ve seen it because that’s when people started saying their goodbyes and she was told to say her final “thank you”s to her guests. And yes, Papa made her say goodbye and thank you to Sawyer but Papa wouldn’t know that she stuck her tongue out at him after he looked away. As the last person left through the front door, Papa picked her up and carried her upstairs. By the time they reached the top, she was barely conscious. Her breaths were evening out and her eyelids weren’t even trying to stay open. Whatever Papa did next, she couldn’t remember. She was already passed out cold by the time he put her in his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting today because I won't be around to post for her proper birthday on the 6th, so I'm celebrating now! Happy 8th Birthday Marilyn Winslow! 🎂🎈😊Sorry for inviting that schmuck Sawyer!


	15. You Should've Just Listened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonardo teaches Marilyn how her actions affect those around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Animal abuse

It really was amazing what could change in the span of a few weeks. It seemed just yesterday, Marilyn was listening to the delighted voices filling the room in celebration of her birthday. Now, the only sounds that could be heard from the dining room were the incessant tapping of a number two pencil against the expensive wooden dining table, and the loud ticks of the mechanical clock on the wall. It was nearly an hour after Sg.na Sagesse had left and Marilyn was still at the table staring at her math problems. She had given Mr. Lurch an honest answer to his question, but apparently, that translated to her being a "smart mouth” which earned her an extra twenty problems for homework. As of this moment, she was still on question five. Tears of frustration were brimming her eyes. _I’ve been working on these all day_!

She had started on them after Mr. Lurch left and worked on them until Mr. Venturi came, and then worked on them after he left and until Sg.na Sagesse came. _I haven’t had a break once today, except to go to the bathroom._ Admittedly, it wasn’t the best time to be a “smart mouth” with Christmas just a week away, but he **had** asked, “Am I boring you, Signorina Borghese?”

To which she replied with a frank, “Yes,” and then smiled and added, “Sir.”

Right now, she was painfully regretting her words and was wallowing in her own misery. _This is worse than getting a spanking._ Finally, tears began to roll onto her paper, wetting the math problem “45 + 52” that was causing her so much agony. _I hate math. I’m so dumb._ Little sobs of despair and frustration escaped her chest, “Papa!” she called out, aching for his comforting arms, “Papa, please help me!”

But Papa didn’t come. She knew she had disappointed him with her attitude, which hurt her because she was **_finally_** doing well in her classes and making him proud. Marilyn remembered the look on his face when Mr. Lurch had told him her first test scores, and never in her life had she felt so small and inadequate. Mama had never cared what she got as long as she behaved herself, did her work, and didn’t get held back a grade. _I miss Mama._

Marilyn wiped her misty eyes and runny nose on her sleeve. A small meow from her kitten broke her out of her misery. She looked down and saw Principessa Snowbell rubbing herself against the chair legs while purring affectionately. With a small watery smile, she picked up the kitten and held her close to her chest. Marilyn pecked a kiss on the kitten’s head, “Math is stupid, right Principessa Snowbell?”

The kitten meowed, obviously in agreement. “It’s not me that’s stupid…right?” she asked.

Principessa Snowbell meowed loudly. “Thank you,” she said and pressed her lips against the furry creature.

Marilyn moved into the sitting room and took out a cat toy so she could play with Principessa Snowbell. She started moving the stick around and watched the kitten chase after it. Marilyn giggled every time the kitten got close to the feather at the end of the stick but narrowly missed it when she pulled it away from her. “You’re almost a grown-up kitty,” she said with a smile as she twirled the feather stick around in front of the kitten, “You’re getting so big!”

Principessa Snowbell’s body had gotten longer and her face wider. _Bigger but still cute_! Despite how many times the kitten missed the feather, she kept trying. _Unlike me…_ Marilyn pouted but it turned into a full-blown frown when she heard, “Vittoria. What do you think you’re doing?”

She turned around slowly, the guilt painted all over her face. _When adults ask that, they never like any answer you give. Even if it’s honest_. “I-I,” she stammered, “I’m taking a break.”

“Did I say you could?” he said darkly, walking over swiftly to tower over her.

Correction, now she could officially say she’d never felt smaller. Papa was a large man, but it never felt more real than right now. She shook her head nervously. “Answer me with your words, Vittoria,” he said.

 _There it is._ He never yelled, but he didn’t need to. She was still scared of him when he talked in this voice that wouldn’t be scary to the average person _._ “No Papa,” she said quietly.

“No what?” he asked, demanding her to clarify.

“No Papa. You didn’t say I could…” she replied obediently.

“Then why did you disobey me?” he asked, his blue eyes looking at her green ones darkly, “Is it because you disrespect me?”

“No Papa! I’m just tired,” she whined, “And…and I don’t know how to do it! Math is hard!”

Papa’s face remained the same, “There’s only one right answer. How is it difficult?”

Tears started brimming her eyes again, “I don’t know Papa,” she sobbed.

“Stop crying, go back to the table, and work on your problems,” he said as he watched her heave dry sobs as she returned to the dining table, “Don’t be so dramatic Vittoria. It’s addition, not an execution.”

She rubbed her runny nose and wiped her eyes as she stared down at her math problem again, “45 + 52”. Papa looked over her shoulder disapprovingly, “You’ve been at this the entire day and you’ve only managed to answer five problems? And only two of them are correct?”

“I’m trying Papa! I’m trying!” she cried.

“Don’t raise your voice at me,” he said sternly, placing his heavy hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she wailed, “I promise I’m trying.”

Papa sighed, “Write the problem like this.”

Papa wrote the problem so the 45 was on top of the 52, “Now solve only what’s in this column.”

 _5+2 equals…six…seven!_ Marilyn wrote a seven underneath the line and looked up at her Papa who nodded in approval. “Now, solve only what’s on this side.”

She added the four and five and wrote a nine. “Now what’s your answer?” he asked.

“Nine and seven?” she asked more than stated.

“Try again,” he said, “Look where the nine is.”

“On the left?” she asked.

“What place is the nine in?” he asked impatiently.

“On the right?” she asked even though she was certain she knew her left from her right.

“No Vittoria, what is the value of the nine?”

“Nine,” she replied.

“It’s in the tens place, and if there is a nine in the tens place that means the value of nine is what?” he asked, his voice laced with frustration and impatience.

Marilyn looked up at him with confused eyes. Her heart was aching, knowing he found her stupid and that he was disappointed with her. “I don’t know,” she whispered quietly.

Papa pointed to the top number, “How would you say this number?”

“Forty-five,” she replied and watched him nod and point to the next number, “Fifty-two.”

“So, how would you say this one?” he asked, pointing to her sum.

“Ninety-seven,” she stated and then said, “Ohhhh!”

Papa nodded and sighed as if he completed the most difficult task in the world. “Now do the rest and do not leave until they are all done.”

Papa didn’t even mutter a “good job” before he walked away from her. Marilyn did all the ones she could do by herself before giving herself a break. Yes, Papa said she had to stay there but her brain was tired and Principessa Snowbell was getting impatient. Being the responsible Mama she was, she paid attention to the little creature, which may have been the worst idea she ever executed because Papa decided _at that moment_ to check on her. “Papa! I-,” she began before he brushed past her and grabbed the kitten up by the scruff of the neck, who started meowing in alarm.

“I warned you several times Vittoria on what would happen if you put this cat,” he said giving Principessa Snowbell a slight shake, “before me. You were there when we had that conversation, weren’t you?”

“Papa, I’m-,” she began before he cut her off.

“Weren’t you?” he said loudly.

It wasn’t a yell, not by any means but it felt like it was the loudest sound ever made. Louder than the nuclear warning drills they had to do in class. “Yes I was, but-,” she whimpered, “Papa, please don’t hurt her!”

Her plea must have upset him because he walked away with the kitten and tossed her outside in the pouring rain before slamming the door, keeping Principessa Snowbell from coming back in. “PAPA! Please don’t!” she wailed as she tried to reach for the door before he caught her wrist.

“If you want any chance of her coming back in tonight, you will finish all of your math problems and you will do it correctly. Otherwise, she stays out there.”

The small meows she could barely hear over the pouring rain ached her heart, “But Papa she could get sick!”

“Then you better get started,” he said civilly, “Her well-being rests entirely on your actions. You need to learn that there are consequences to your actions Vittoria because it seems your mother failed to teach you.”

At the mention of Mama, she began to sob and wail. But Papa showed no sympathy, “The longer you cry, the longer she stays outside in the cold. And I’m not confident that a large bird won’t come out and take her during the night.”

With a gasp, Marilyn ran back into the kitchen to do her math problems. _Principessa Snowbell’s life depended on it_. She looked at the problem she got stuck on, “79+26”. _This is too hard_! _Oh my God…she’s going to die_! “Papa! Please help,” she sobbed, “I don’t know how to do these ones.”

Papa looked over at her, “It’s a shame you didn’t pay more attention to your classes, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry! I’ll do better!” she cried, now unable to even see the problem as her eyes filled up with tears.

“You said the same thing about obeying and respecting me. How can I take your word?” Papa asked.

 _Why is he making it so hard? Can’t he see I’m sorry? I’m so sorry!_ “Mommy!” she screamed, “I want Mommy!”

 _Your Mama isn’t here anymore. She’s dead. She’s in hell._ Whatever remnants of composure were in Marilyn immediately fled her as soon as her thoughts overcame her. A weight settled in on her chest and she began to hyperventilate, and then the gagging happened. Acid made its way from her stomach to her throat and onto the kitchen table, parts of it landing on her homework. She continued to dry heave, and when she finally regained a few breaths she looked up towards Papa. He made no effort to go to her, hold her, or comfort her as he had before.

There was nothing in his eyes. No sympathy, concern, or affection. _I really made him mad. I made him hate me. It’s all my fault._ She moved towards him but he stepped away, and his distance felt like a cold hard slap. _Why can’t he spank me like a normal parent?_ Her mind answered for her _because you’re being an awful child. Any parent would act like this. Mama did. Why are you so bad, huh? You should've just listened._

It took more than an hour for her to calm down to the point where she could breathe normally and see again, and she had to do it all by herself. She finally thought Papa would relent on his punishment, but he didn’t. He still made her do her homework at the table that was covered in her own vomit. Her eyes were swollen and ready for sleep, her body utterly exhausted from the day but she wasn’t done. It took a while for her to sort out the problems by herself, using the pitiful notes she took for reference to help her. _I’ll never take bad notes again. I’ll write down everything._

Finally, at 3:09 AM, she was done. Her eyes were closed as she stood upright and swaying, waiting for Papa to say it was correct and she was all done. That Principessa Snowbell could come in. She never heard his answer as exhaustion overcame her and she fell with a loud thud on the floor a few seconds later.

***

“Buongiorno dolcezza,” Papa whispered.

Her eyes fluttered open, not that they wanted to, as Papa’s gentle voice lulled her out of deep sleep. She noticed she was in her own bed, in her nightie snuggly tucked underneath the pink duvet. _Papa must've changed me and tucked me in._ The gesture warmed her heart. _That means he still loves me._ His gentle voice broke her out of her thoughts, “Time to get up for your tutors.”

 _She still had to go? After everything?_ She sighed in defeat. _Of course._ The prospect still made her want to cry, but she didn’t want Papa to be mad at her. Not after last night.

“Papa,” her voice rasped, “Are you still mad?”

“You did very well last night dolcezza. I don’t think we’ll have any problems again in the future. Will we?” he asked with a soft smile as he brushed her hair out of her face.

“No Papa,” she said, barely audible, “There won’t be any more problems.”

“Bene,” he smiled, “Now let’s get you ready for today.”

She let out a small tired sob and pitifully asked, “Can you get me ready? I’m tired, Daddy. I’m really tired.”

 _There’s no use in asking him to cancel._ Papa smiled, “Of course principessa.”

He scooped her out of her bed and cradled her close to his chest. Her eyes were shut almost the entire time he took to get her ready. Breakfast was simple, which was a nice change from the rich ones Papa usually made. Her stomach was in knots after she got sick last night, which she noticed was cleaned from the table. _That was nice of him._

She yawned, “Where’s Snowbell?”

Papa drank his coffee as he watched her with serenity behind his eyes, “Still outside.”

“What?” she croaked, her voice unable to raise its volume.

“I said _all_ of your math problems had to be correctly solved before I let her in. You never corrected the first three you did,” he said simply, “You looked like you needed the sleep, so I let you sleep in until now so you’d have the energy to fix them this morning.”

“You mean she’s been out there this whole time?” she asked worriedly.

“I’m a man of my word Vittoria. When I say I’ll do something, I follow through,” he said as he looked at her seriously, “That’s very important to me.”

“Papa, I-,” she began before he interrupted her.

“Your worksheet is on the coffee table in the sitting room. I left a pencil out so you can finish the problems,” he said in a benevolent voice and looked at his watch, “I’d say you have thirty minutes before Sg. Buccola arrives for your lesson. I’d correct them before he comes, so you can bring the kitten in. It might take a while for you to find her because I haven’t heard her meow in some time.”

He sipped his coffee and looked at her, waiting for her to respond or argue. But as Mama once said, _it’s not worth fighting back._ “Okay Papa,” she said as she finished her dish and put it in the sink.

It didn’t take her long to complete the three of them, which for some reason made her feel worse. She went into the front of the house and called out for Principessa Snowbell, but there was no meow or sign of her. Her heart rate quickened in panic as she saw Mr. Lurch’s car get closer. Her time to find Snowbell had run out as he pulled into the driveway.

Papa stepped outside to greet the man and was about to pass her off to him for the next few hours, “Papa, if you see her, will you please let her in?” she croaked.

Papa nodded, “Of course.”

The day was long. It felt longer and longer for every second Principessa Snowbell wasn’t in her arms. _She’s probably dead,_ she thought numbly, _anytime I can’t find someone, that means they’re dead._ Marilyn couldn’t bother to cry anymore. She couldn't even bother to react to Mr. Lurch's smug looks nor listen to his critique that her work was messy and only "adequate". 

Papa was working all day, doing whatever it was he does, so he couldn’t take the time to help her look for Snowbell. Not that he gave her a lot of time, because as always she had to practice her reading or math. And she chose reading because she’d be damned if she had to look at another math problem again. “Vittoria vieni qui!” Papa called out.

Marilyn closed her book and walked over towards his voice, barely registering that her body was moving. Sg.na Sagesse was standing at the door, clutching a muddy kitten to her chest. Marilyn gasped and nearly burst into tears, “Principessa Snowbell!”

She ran over and took the poor thing into her arms, the poor shaking thing. “Sei al sicuro! Grazie Dio!” she exclaimed.

Papa smiled down at her before turning to Sg.na Sagesse and saying something to her in Italian that made the woman look at her disapprovingly. Not that Marilyn noticed as she was too wrapped up in taking care of the baby, “Povera piccola ragazza! Sei con me adesso,” she whispered.

“Her Italian has improved,” Sg.na Sagesse said proudly.

“It has,” Papa mused before holding out his arms towards Marilyn, “Dammi il gatta. Mi prenderò cura di lei mentre studi.”

Marilyn looked up and frowned. No, she didn’t want to give Principessa Snowbell to him. To anyone for that matter. _But what choice do you have? None. You have to obey._ Without a moment’s hesitation, she handed the kitten over to her Papa. Evidently, the kitten disliked the idea of being with anyone but her more than Marilyn did. Her heart could barely handle the fading disgruntled meows as Papa walked away with her.

“Shall we get started?” Sg.na Sagesse asked.

Marilyn walked with her into the classroom and watched her tutor close the door. She sat down politely, waiting for her tutor to tell her what to do. Ms. Sagesse looked at her carefully, trying to find a sign of something terribly wrong, “Vittoria, sweetie, are you okay?”

 _No._ “Yes. I’m just tired. I was really worried about Principessa Snowbell last night,” she said with a numbness.

“What happened?” she asked as she put her briefcase down.

“Didn’t Papa tell you?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Well yes,” she said slowly, “But…”

“Then why are you asking me?” she snapped.

“I…I just wanted to know if you’d like to talk about it,” her tutor said patiently.

“Well, I don’t. I just wanna take a nap,” she muttered.

“Then I think you should take one,” Sg.na Sagesse smiled, “I won’t mind if you take one over there, on that couch.”

“But…our lesson,” Marilyn gaped, not completely understanding why she’d let her sleep.

“I don’t think anyone is capable of learning anything if they’re exhausted. Especially an eight-year-old girl,” she said in a comforting manner.

Her warm hazel eyes looked at her gently, and Marilyn’s lower lip wobbled. _She’s so nice._ With a dry sob, she hugged her waist and said a muffled, “Thank you.”

The woman wrapped her arms around her and held her close, “Of course darling.”

Ms. Sagesse left and came back with a warm blanket and a pillow as Marilyn situated herself on the couch. The woman was kind enough to help her take off her shoes and tuck her into bed, “I’ll wake you up a bit before the end of our time together, hm?”

Marilyn nodded as she pulled the blanket closer to her neck, allowing her eyelids to close. “Sogni d'oro amore mio,” whispered a woman’s voice.

Her body finally succumbed to exhaustion and she fell into a deep Sleeping Beauty like sleep and wouldn’t notice until she woke up, that a small furry body was sleeping contentedly next to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now begins the time skips instead of the day by day. Finally 😅! Tapping into those flashbacks of doing math at the dinner table was...fun. But really, I was actually super excited to post this chapter and have been looking forward to it for weeks. I hope you all enjoyed it!


	16. Homemade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn is on a quest to find the perfect gift for her Papa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to draft issues, this didn't make it into the correct order of the story sooo...here it is. I hope you enjoy it! ♥️

Marilyn’s bright blonde curls were bouncing as energetically as she was on the cobblestone road. Papa had allowed Ms. Sagesse to accompany them on their shopping trip for Christmas presents. He only invited Marilyn to go with him, despite what he called her earlier "transgressions" because she insisted on buying him a present (with his money), but she wanted it to be a surprise so thus Ms. Sagesse would help her find one and keep it a secret from Papa until Christmas day. They had little over an hour to find something before they had to meet up again with Papa for lunch at home.

“What about that store?” Ms. Sagesse pointed out, by gently raising her finely manicured nails.

“No. It looks boring,” Marilyn said bluntly.

Marilyn went around, looking through the glass windows of the shops for something to inspire her and catch her eye. _Papa already has tons of clothes, watches, and...what do boys like?_ “Vittoria, don’t run,” Ms. Sagesse huffed, slightly out of breath as she had decided to go on their excursion in heels.

The woman had to bob and weave through the bustling crowd of people, all of whom were doing their own frantic last-minute Christmas shopping. “Vittoria!” she shouted, trying to get the girl’s attention.

By the time she caught up with the child, Marilyn was ready to sprint off again and almost managed to until Ms. Sagesse took her small hand into her own, “Stay with me,” she said sternly.

Marilyn nodded obediently but pulled on the woman’s hand like an eager puppy would its owner if they had it on a leash. She just couldn't help her excitement! _After...that_ night, she'd had no fun whatsoever. She was either reading or practicing her addition from sun up to sundown. In fact, she never actually saw the sun come up given that she never went outside to play, as her only indicator of the time of day was when Papa would call her for one of their meals together. When Papa had been generous enough to bless her with this trip, she nearly fainted from happiness. 

_I have to make every moment count. Besides, he deserves a Christmas present for being the best Papa to me...even when I don't deserve him._ Her quest to find him a gift strengthened and she continued to march forward. After another few moments of pulling the woman around, Marilyn stopped in front of an antique shop, or at least that’s what Ms. Sagesse said it was. “Papa likes old things and art, right?” she asked.

There were lots of old things and art around their mansion, so it made sense that Papa liked it. _After all, why would you keep something in your house that you didn’t like_? “Yes, he does. He likes collecting-,” Ms. Sagesse said before the child disappeared into the store.

Suddenly, Marilyn became a princess-explorer who was in a treasure trove! Shelves were lined with objects that held mystical and magical abilities, brought to the trove by evil pirates! She began to walk slowly through the aisles, making sure that each step was careful so she wouldn’t set off any booby traps. The shop, or _trove_ , smelled old and musty as Princess Marilyn was the first one to step in there in several years because only the bravest explorers entered on their own. But she had to because she was on a quest! 

_I’m doing it all on my own, without the help of a map or sidekick._ “Vittoria,” Ms. Sagesse said, grabbing onto her shoulder, “I said to stay with me.”

 _Never mind. I’ll have a sidekick._ “Sorry Ms. Sagesse,” she said softly, before dropping her voice to a whisper, “But we have to keep our voices down because we’re on a quest. We don’t want the evil witch who haunts this trove to find us.”

Ms. Sagesse’s black and neatly shaped brows furrowed in confusion before she realized Marilyn was playing pretend, “Oh right,” she whispered, “Then let’s look, but don’t call the woman an evil witch.”

Marilyn nodded firmly. “You’re right. It’ll bring her to us. Let’s go,” she said, completely missing the point that calling the shopkeeper a witch was rude.

Marilyn marched forward, looking at the objects on the shelves. _Too boring, too ugly, too scary...what even is_ **that**? “Find anything?” Ms. Sagesse whispered as she leaned down closer to Marilyn, her loose black hair dangling and tickling the sides of Marilyn’s porcelain cheeks.

Marilyn shook her head. “Nothing. They’ve hidden it super well,” she said with a pout.

In reality, she could only see what was on the bottom two shelves due to her height. She dearly hoped she ended up being taller than Mama. Ms. Sagesse hummed and straightened up, and plucked something off the shelf, “What about this?” she asked as she held up an old wooden clock.

“No. That’s not it,” Marilyn said, completely ignoring its workmanship and the fact that it was a rare item that anyone would be delighted to have in their collection.

Marilyn continued to weave through the aisles, looking for the perfect gift. _Being an explorer is hard._ The shop was meant for people like Papa, who could afford the nicest things simply because they had more money than they knew what to do with. But these “nice things” meant nothing to Marilyn who deemed the collectibles “ugly” and “boring.” _There seems to be nothing in here that_ …

Marilyn looked over at the Christmas section in the corner of the store. It was the only place that didn’t seem musty or dull, which immediately attracted her to the spot. And it was perfect because on her eye-level she saw an ornament unlike any other. The dark brown ceramic ornament had a nativity scene carved into it with vibrant colors and fine details that showed the youth of the Virgin Mary and the blushing baby Jesus. _Perfect._

As she went to pick it up, Ms. Sagesse gently took her hand that had reached out. “No, no Vittoria. It says ‘ _Don’t touch! Ask for assistance’_ on this sign, see?” she said, pointing her pale finger at a small white sign written in Italian.

“I didn’t know,” Marilyn said with a pout.

“I know sweetie,” the woman smiled and then looked at the ornament, “This is very beautiful. It’d make a great gift.”

Marilyn grinned and a warm fluffy feeling settled in her chest at the praise. “Can we buy it?” she asked, happy with her find.

 _My treasure._ Ms. Sagesse tilted her head away from the aisle and said something in Italian. Suddenly, a short graying woman came over to them. _The witch_. Marilyn gasped and hid behind Ms. Sagesse’s skirt, though neither woman noticed. The woman had dark eyes that sunk into her wrinkly face; _clearly, time wasn’t good to her_. 

The two women spoke politely but Marilyn couldn’t help but stare at the old woman, even though she knew it was rude. The woman was slightly hunched over, as she had seen many old people do as the years caught up with them. Marilyn could picture her rubbing her wrinkly bony hands together sinisterly as she fueled a fire to cook little children like Marilyn. The thought caused her to whimper in fear. _I don’t want a witch to eat me._

Before her imagination could take her to scarier places, she was snapped out of her trance when the old woman gave her a toothy smile. Well, with the teeth she had, that was. The woman said something which Ms. Sagesse translated, “She says this is a very beautiful gift and your Papa is lucky to have a very thoughtful daughter.”

Marilyn gave a weak smile just to be polite. “Grazie,” she whispered.

Like everyone she had met so far (except Sawyer and Mr. Lurch), she charmed the old woman quickly. The frail woman plucked the ornament from the shelf and began conversing with Ms. Sagesse again whose poised face turned from pleased to shocked to outraged. It was like a switch had flipped because the women began to converse rapidly and quite angrily in Italian. She had never seen Ms. Sagesse angry before and she hoped she wouldn’t see her that way ever again. Marilyn didn’t understand anything they were saying, though she heard some words that Papa used occasionally that she knew she wasn't meant to overhear.

Another shopkeeper had heard the commotion and wandered over, but seemed uninterested and undisturbed over the conflict between the two women. “Come with me,” the young woman said pleasantly, “And let’s allow them to talk.”

Marilyn looked up, her mouth forming an ‘o’ shape. “You speak American?” she asked innocently.

The brown-haired girl nodded. “English, yes,” she replied as she took Marilyn’s hand and led her away, “I’m just here visiting my family for a few months.”

“Wait, please, I don’t-,” Marilyn began to panic and tried to tug her arm away.

“Oh don’t worry, this is normal,” the girl huffed, “There’s a craft station in the back that you can use while they work out the price.”

Marilyn tilted her head, “But they’re in a fight.”

“Again, normal,” the girl said tiredly.

The brown-haired girl was young, and couldn’t have been more than a decade older than her. She was clearly going through “the changes” given how her skin was adorned with a few pimples and was red in some places. Her best feature was her brown hair, which was fluffy and sat delicately over her shoulders. The girl sat Marilyn down at a child-size table and in a child-sized chair while taking a seat across from her. She began to arrange glitter, paint, ribbon, brushes, and a bare ornament in front of her. “Here, let’s make an ornament together,” she instructed rather than asked.

Marilyn took the bare ornament and had the girl tie a red ribbon as its handle. When she had finished, Marilyn chose a Christmas-green paint to dip a soft brush in. Soon, she began painting delicate strokes over the white ceramic orb. The girl did one too, but picked a dark blue and with a bored expression began painting. Clearly, the girl wasn’t happy to be working in the shop… “Is she your grandma?” Marilyn asked, figuring a conversation wouldn’t hurt.

“Mhm,” the girl hummed.

“That’s nice,” she said pleasantly, “All my grandparents are dead.”

Marilyn said it so pleasantly and so bluntly, it shocked the teenager. “I...I’m sorry,” the girl sputtered.

“That’s okay,” Marilyn said as she finished the first coat of green before dipping the brush in the paint again, “I still have my Papa.”

“Well that’s good,” the girl said awkwardly, “My uh...my name is Carmen.”

“My name is Vittoria,” Marilyn said naturally.

“That’s a very pretty name,” Carmen complimented.

“It’s my Italian name my Papa gave me,” she said as she took the canister of green glitter and began generously dumping it onto the ornament, “My American one is Marilyn. My Mama gave it to me.”

“Oh,” the teen said confused, “Which one do you like?”

“My Papa likes Vittoria,” Marilyn answered.

 _Not enough glitter._ She took another canister of green and began furiously shaking it over the small sphere. “Well, what do you like?” Carmen asked gently.

Marilyn shrugged, “I dunno.”

When she was satisfied with the green sparkle, she took the can of red glitter and started pouring it over the ornament. _Glitter really is the best_. Marilyn didn’t know that the teen’s mind was racing with questions that she had to weigh whether it was appropriate or not to ask. “So...why are you visiting Italy?” she asked politely.

“My Mama just died so now I live with my Papa,” Marilyn said, frowning at the ornament.

 _It looks kind of brown_ ... _it needs more red glitter_. By now, her hands were sticky with green and red paint and glitter-coated her hands and dress. The powers of glitter knew no bounds because even if it didn’t touch you, it’d still find some way on you. Carmen closed her mouth, surprised at the bluntness that came from the little girl who was so engrossed in her craft. “I’m sorry,” she apologized.

Marilyn didn’t respond as she moved onto the next task of writing words on the ornament. _What should it say? Is ‘World’s Best Dad’ too...what’s the word...there’s a_ **_word_ ** _for it!_ Marilyn decided to settle for ‘World’s Best Dad’, which was hard to write on the globby glittery paint. _This isn’t how I thought it’d look._

Marilyn looked at Carmen’s and her cheeks flamed red in embarrassment. _Hers looks so much better than mine._ “Yours looks pretty,” Marilyn observed more than she complimented.

Carmen smiled, “So does yours. It’s very sparkly. I’m guessing it’s for your dad?”

Marilyn nodded, comforted by her words. _It_ ** _is_** _sparkly! Everything's better when it’s sparkly_. “It’s our first Christmas together. That’s why we came in. So we could get him a gift!”

“That’s very sweet of you. I bet your Papa will love it. Every parent loves homemade presents from their kids. It’s one of the best parts of parenthood,” the girl said kindly.

 _Mama didn’t_ ... _but maybe Papa will_. Marilyn smiled, “I really love my daddy.”

“Well, I hope I have a child as loving as you,” Carmen said.

Marilyn ignored her as she concentrated on her brush strokes. At long last, she finished writing the barely legible sentence, and with a flick of the brush, painted the last letter. “Done!” she said proudly, holding up the ornament by its red ribbon handle.

It was clearly done by a young child given the messy craftsmanship, but it was done with pride and an eight-year-old’s concept of hard work. Carmen gasped kindly, “Oh look at that! It’s beautiful!”

Marilyn was beaming up at the teen, who reached for the handle, “Let’s let it dry so you can pack it up and take it home.”

Carmen stood up, which seemed to be tiring for her because she let out a pant. _She should exercise more. Oh, that’s not a nice thing to think about someone who is being nice to you. Sorry for being rude God!_ Carmen put the ornament on a drying rack that was crusted with dry paint from other projects. Marilyn’s ornament looked lonely, being the only one on the rack. _It needs a friend._

“Can I make another one for my teacher?” she asked before politely adding, “Please?”

Carmen smiled and set up another set for her to make an ornament with. Carmen helped her write the words more legibly this time by lightly writing _Best Teacher_ on the ornament with a pencil before tracing over it with glue. Marilyn lightly powdered the bare ornament with silver glitter which made the words look more pronounced. When it dried, Marilyn painted it lightly with a bright shade of pink. Carmen lied and said there was no pink glitter that would match the ornament, so unfortunately Marilyn had to do without the extra sparkle.

Nevertheless, it looked really nice. She even ended up having time to make a beaded rainbow bracelet for Sg.na Sagesse. The beads were different sizes, but it didn’t matter to Marilyn. As Carmen tied the loose ends of the bracelet for her and packed it in a bag for Marilyn’s teacher, Sg.na Sagesse walked in with a huff. “Vittoria, we’re leaving right-,” she started before her eyes settled on the glittery messy child.

Marilyn proudly got up and showed her the ornaments she made. “Look, I made one for Papa!” she said, bouncing on her heels, before taking the white paper bag with a pink bow on it, “And I made something for you too!”

The tenseness left Sg.na Sagesse’s face, “You made one for me?”

The woman smiled and her eyes lit up with a fire that warmed her face, solely ignited by the pure and innocent gesture of the child. “Uh-huh!” Marilyn grinned.

“Can I open it?” the woman asked excitedly.

“Mmm, nope!” Marilyn said as she hid the bag behind her back, “You _have_ to wait until Christmas.”

“What?” the woman asked, pretending to be appalled by the child’s words.

It was almost comical how the woman’s eyebrows nearly met her widow’s peak and how her eyes widened so much that Marilyn could see the whites of them. “Uh-huh, because it’s a _Christmas_ present. You can only open it on Christmas,” Marilyn said surely.

Really though, the wait would kill Marilyn but if Sg.na Sagesse opened it now then Marilyn would have to actually get her a real Christmas present. Sg.na Sagesse pouted, “That’s unfair Vittoria.”

“A lady doesn’t pout,” Marilyn said in the same tone Sg.na Sagesse used when she told her those same words.

“Okay,” she said with a chuckle before extending her hand for Marilyn to take. 

Marilyn took the bag with the blue ribbon for Papa, and slipped her small glittery and paint crusted hand into her teacher’s. While some would recoil from the stickiness, Ms. Sagesse held Marilyn’s hand tighter, her heart warmed by the pureness of a child’s messiness from crafting. “How much do we owe you?” she asked, “For the crafts?”

“None,” Carmen exhaled tiredly, “It’s on me.”

The teen stood up and when she did, Marilyn saw Ms. Sagesse’s smile slip from her face as she eyed the girl up and down. _It’s not polite to stare. You were the one who said you have to keep your real feelings off your face._ Marilyn had no idea why her teacher’s mood changed, but there was an unspoken tenseness and discomfort between the teen and young woman. “Thank you,” she said cooly, “That’s very generous of you.”

Sg.na Sagesse nodded and turned around, taking Marilyn with her, “Come on Vittoria, let’s go.”

“Bye Carmen!” Marilyn yelled back sweetly with a pure smile and wide wave.

The girl waved back as she left the store, the bell tinkling behind her. Ms. Sagesse had a disapproving look, but it disappeared when Marilyn tugged on her hand. “Did you see what I made Papa?” she asked excitedly.

“Yes, I did,” the woman said with enthusiasm, “Oh he’ll love it so much.”

“Yeah! He’ll have that one and then the other one!” she stated proudly before tilting her head curiously, “Why did it take so long to buy?” 

Ms. Sagesse pursed her lips, “I, or we didn’t buy it. We couldn’t come to an agreement over the price. I swear, that woman was completely unreasonable!”

The eight-year-old patiently listened to the woman rant, trying to follow along as her teacher slipped from English into Italian and then into English again. “I shouldn’t have indulged that b..witch,” she said nastily, using the word she told Marilyn not to refer to the woman as, “Now we only have fourteen minutes to find something else before we have to meet your Papa for lunch.”

“We don’t need to find something else Sg.na Sagesse,” she said innocently, “I made him an ornament right here!”

She held the bag up proudly. Sg.na Sagesse sucked in a breath and raked her gaze over Marilyn. Marilyn didn’t know why she wasn’t responding quickly enough but then got the hint. _Maybe he’s like Mama and doesn’t want my homemade gifts_. “It’s ugly, isn’t it?” she asked, her nose stinging as her lip wobbled.

“No, no, no! Sweetheart no,” the woman said, trying to spare her feelings, “I...I just thought that was something you wanted to give to him _now_. If you want to give it as a Christmas present then it’s perfect! It looks perfect and he’ll love it. Parents love homemade gifts!”

Marilyn exhaled in relief, grateful that they wouldn’t have to go gift-hunting again. She really didn’t want to come across another witch. Her face brightened and she put more bounce in her step, “I can’t wait to give it to him! Do you really think he’ll love it?”

“I do,” her teacher exhaled.

Marilyn swung their arms happily as they strolled down the path to the place they agreed to meet Papa at. “Can we go back sometime?” she asked absent-mindedly.

“Why would you wanna go back?” the woman asked curiously.

“I like Carmen. She’s my new friend,” she said as she clutched her Papa’s bag a little tighter.

“I don’t think you should be spending time with girls like that, Vittoria,” Ms. Sagesse said tensely.

“Girls like what?” Marilyn asked curiously.

Her teacher paused in thought before answering, “Teenagers. Girls that age don’t make good decisions and are a bad influence.”

“Oh, okay,” she said numbly.

 _Well, it’s not_ ** _your_** _decision anyway. It’s Papa’s,_ she pouted. As soon as she thought of her Papa, he slipped into her view, waiting in front of a large fountain that several people were gathered around. “Papa!” she yelled excitedly as she ran to his wide-open arms.

He picked her up effortlessly and gave her a kiss on her cheek, which she returned happily. “Did you two ladies have fun?” he asked with a smile.

“Uh-huh! I got you this!” she said, holding out the bag but pulling it out of reach when he went to take it, “But you can _only_ open it on Christmas! That’s the rule!”

Her teacher laughed warmly, and folded her arms under her chest, “She said the same thing to me.”

“How am I going to wait so long?” Papa asked in a teasing tone.

“If I have to wait, so do _you_ ,” Marilyn said, tapping him on the nose as she said ‘you’, leaving a glittery fingerprint behind.

“Well, that seems fair,” Papa said as he let her slip down to the ground and took her hand, “Ready to go home?”

“Uh-huh!” Marilyn said, finally feeling hunger pains settle in her stomach.

Papa looked down at their entwined hands, “What’s covering my hand?”

“I can’t tell you! It’s part of the surprise,” she grinned.

Papa looked towards her tutor, where she mouthed “Paint _”_ in what was supposed to be reassurance. He sighed, "You'll take a bath when you get home," he said firmly.

"Mhm," she agreed because agreeing with Papa made life easier for her.

The three of them packed themselves into Papa's car, as Marilyn created a little ring of glitter around her as it brushed off her dress when she sat down. With the chipping paint flakes and dust of sparkles seeping into the fine leather seats, Marilyn had officially Christened her Papa's car as a "parent's car". Not that he would be particularly pleased given the mess, mind you. As she listened to the engine roar to life, her mood dampened. _When I get home, I have to take a bath, then I have to read and do my math facts again_...

 _I won't get to see or play with Snowbell._ She missed her kitten who she had been denied the "privilege" of seeing until Papa heard of her improvement in her schooling. As she felt herself drown in sadness, she remembered that Papa would _know._ He can feel everything I can feel. _Don't spoil being happy._ Marilyn looked down at the gift she made proudly, and a smile crept across her face.

Her posture perked up and she carried herself with more confidence. With her Papa’s gift sitting snugly on her lap, Marilyn happily swung her legs against Sg.na Sagesse’s seat as she hummed the tune of _I Wonder_ as they drove home. _Don't be sad_. _Today has been a very good day_.


	17. Tis the Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn attends her first Christmas party with her Papa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Spanking.

Things had been going a lot more smoothly, according to Papa, after _that night._ She was a good girl from that point on and had committed herself to her academics every waking moment. Marilyn’s toys went unplayed with, some of them collecting a thin layer of dust on top of them as their owner focused her attention solely on her math and reading. Marilyn vowed to never be unprepared again because it very well could lead to terrible things. It _did_ lead to terrible things.

Mr. Lurch, while still entirely unpleasant, stopped picking on her as much as her aptitude for her school subjects improved. Papa was happy, Mr. Lurch was pleased with “his” success, and the only one who seemed in poor spirits was Marilyn herself. While the Christmas season was her favorite time of the year, she had derived no joy from the festivities leading up to the holiday. This holiday was really the only time that Mama and she could actually say they enjoyed being with one another. _Because no one wants to be alone during the holidays._

They didn’t do anything special like decorating a tree or singing carols, but they did exchange presents, and watch TV with one another all day while drinking hot cocoa. Mama, like Marilyn, hated being touched but Christmas was the day she actually let Marilyn snuggle up to her on the couch. As energetic as she was, Marilyn never moved away from her Mama’s side on Christmas. Tears brimmed her eyes at the memory, an actual good memory. _It really exists too. I’m not imagining it._

The tears streamed down her cheeks and fell onto the pages of her book. It was a picture book filled with Bible stories, and the story she was reading or was trying to read was about Christ’s birth. The picture of baby Jesus was now wet with her tears that she shamefully tried to wipe off. She’d been reading the story, which was only ten pages, for close to an hour because she spent so much time trying to make sense of the words that were all written in Italian. Papa wanted her to be able to read it to him by Christmas, and she was practicing hard to grant his wish.

From what Papa told her, Christmas Eve was going to be stressful. They had to go to a big Christmas Eve mass and then he was taking her to a party with a ton of people where she’d have to wear that awful dress Sawyer bought her and she had to be on her best behavior. _I still haven’t found a way to get back at him._ If she thought she could get out of going, she was wrong because Papa made a heavy point that they were _both_ invited. Sg.na Sagesse was attending, though not with Papa and her, she was going to be there on behalf of her family who was still in America. Just knowing someone else who spoke English would be there comforted Marilyn a little, but not much. She hated large gatherings.

Marilyn couldn’t talk to anyone yet and always felt alone in a sea of people, especially when Papa pushed her off to strangers. _And he_ ** _always_** _does._ His voice broke her out of her thoughts, “Vittoria.”

She looked up at him with panicked eyes. _Can he read my mind? No, no that’s stupid. Just relax._ “Are you alright?” he asked with concerned eyes.

"Yeah. Just tired Papa," she lied.

Her performance was either good enough to convince Papa (she was actually a bit tired) or he just didn't care enough to address her half-lie. Whatever the reason, he nodded in understanding, "Alright. Then let's get you in bed."

She nodded obediently and took his hand when he offered it to her, letting him lead her away from the couch and book. They went through their typical routine where he’d wash her, tell her he loved her, and help her get ready for bed but Papa seemed different, which put her on edge. _Different is never a good thing with Papa_. “Papa, what’s wrong?” she asked meekly as she slid into her bed.

Papa sat by her side, “I wanted to talk about something with you, before the Christmas Eve party next week.”

Marilyn gave a pout. “What is it Papa?” she asked nervously, feeling like she was in trouble without actually knowing if or why she was.

“People are going to ask you lots of questions,” he started slowly.

“Sig. Venturi taught me how to say, ‘I’m still learning Italian’ as an answer,” she said, trying to be helpful.

Papa gave her a glare and she looked down in shame, “Sorry for interrupting Papa.”

Papa sighed, “I accept your apology and that’s good that he taught you that, however, I’m going to teach you how to answer one of their questions word for word. I’ve asked Sg.na Sagesse to help you, but I still want you to learn how to say it.”

Marilyn nodded, “Okay, what’s the question though?”

Papa’s mouth tightened, “They may ask how your mother died, which they shouldn’t because that’s rude, however, they still might ask.”

Her lip wobbled, “I don’t want to talk about it though.”

“I know, that’s why you’re going to listen to your Papa and answer their question with what I’m about to tell you. Repeat each sentence after me. Ready?”

Marilyn nodded and made an extra effort to listen carefully as Papa spoke the next few words, “Mia mamma è morta in un incidente d'auto.”

In a small voice she copied him, “Mia mamma è morta in un incidente d'auto.”

Papa nodded and continued, “Fa male a ricordare.”

“Fa male a ricordare.” 

“Per favore non farmi parlare di esso,” he finished.

Marilyn parroted his words, “Per favore non farmi parlare di esso.”

“Good,” he praised with a smile, “Now say it all together. Mia mamma è morta in un incidente d'auto. Fa male a ricordare. Per favore non farmi parlare di esso.”

“Mia mamma è morta in un incidente d'auto. Fa male a ricordare. Per favore non farmi parlare di esso,” she replied fluently, very proud of her pronunciation.

“Bene!” Papa grinned and kissed her cheek, which made her giggle, “Now say it again.”

“What’s it mean?” she asked.

“It’s telling them that you don’t want to talk about it,” he answered quickly, “Now say it all again.”

Marilyn nodded, satisfied with his answer, and obediently repeated the sentences over again, “Mia mamma è morta in un incidente d'auto. Fa male a ricordare. Per favore non farmi parlare di esso.”

Papa smiled, “Smart girl. Say it again. I want it to be as easy as breathing.”

Marilyn obediently said it again. And again. And again. By the time he let her fall asleep, she could say it in her dreams.

***

**_December 24, 1968_ **

Christmas Eve was a time for peace, cheer, and spending time with your loving family. Children laughed and their parents smiled. Leonardo and Vittoria Borghese however, did not get the memo. 

“No!” she protested as Papa tried to wrestle her into that awful dress.

“Vittoria, don’t be difficult,” he groaned, “Lift up your arms.”

“No! It’s an awful dress that he bought me just because he knew it’d be itchy!” she complained, trying to stay out of arm's reach from her father.

“You’re being paranoid. Your Uncle Charlie wouldn’t do that,” he said almost convincingly.

“No I’m not and yes he would!” she said with conviction, “He wants to see me suffer.”

“That’s ridiculous and you’d be rude not to wear it,” he responded impatiently.

“Well, I’ll be rude before I ever wear that thing,” she pouted as she crossed her arms.

“That is not an option. Come here, be a good girl and wear the pretty dress. Now,” he demanded.

“No!” she protested, determined to win this argument.

“Vittoria Borghese, I’ve been _extremely_ patient with you. Now you have until the count of three to come here and put on this dress,” he said without raising his voice.

Marilyn stood firm, her arms still crossed and her mouth in a set frown. “One…” her Papa counted.

His eyes flared with anger, which made her whimper a bit but she stood her ground.“Do not ruin tonight with a bad start,” he warned, “Two.”

 _This is it. I have to make a choice._ And so she did. She chose that moment to sprint out of her bathroom before he even counted to three. Their palace was big so she knew she had several places to hide. As she pondered where to go first, a set of strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her up. 

She shrieked in frustration as they carried her back towards the bathroom. Once they were there, she was bent over her Papa’s knee and received six sharp smacks on her behind that brought tears to her eyes. Marilyn let out a loud sob as he spun her around to face him, “I’ve already warned you about raising your voice and disobeying me, so don’t you dare pity yourself for your punishment.”

Papa’s eyes were staring at her angrily, “And don’t you _ever_ run away from me again, or so help me, you’ll wish that what you received was another spanking. Is that clear?”

Marilyn sniffled but nodded in understanding, “It’s clear.”

She knew she was pushing his temper, and knew that it wasn’t just her rear on the line but that of Principessa Snowbell. Marilyn begrudgingly let Papa dress her, though she wore a frown the entire time. It irritated her that he didn’t seem to mind. When he was done, he pulled her further away from her mirror, so she could see herself properly, “There now. Don't you see how pretty you are? Like a little doll,” he said with a pleased expression.

The dress itself was in no way ugly looking. It was a Christmas-red dress that’s skirt flared out nicely. _Perfect for twirling._ The shoulders had a nice puff shape to them and the bodice was finely embroidered with white thread that made a variety of pretty patterns and shapes. Therein lies the problem. She’s worn embroidered dresses before and she could always feel the stitching on the inside of the dress, and the puff sleeves always made her shoulders itch. 

If it weren’t for the fabric that she knew would irritate her skin and cause her to itch all night long, this dress would’ve been something she’d like to wear a lot.

Marilyn still frowned and she could hear Papa sigh in frustration, “You may complain and wear that frown while we’re in here, but the moment we leave this bathroom you will smile, and your complaints will end.”

Marilyn huffed but agreed. Papa spent the next little while doing her hair, pinning it up into a braided bun that was super tight. Her scalp was already uncomfortable and it was made worse when he stuck one of her beaded hairpins on top. She winced and complained, as she was allowed to, but Papa kept on working. She coughed as he set her hair with hair spray, which made tears come to the front of her eyes and her nose sting. 

_Just wait Mr. Sawyer._ Her purse was lying on her bed with a special surprise for Sawer waiting inside, but Papa wouldn't let her get it. He said she didn’t need it and it didn’t match her outfit, though she believed he suspected she was up to something. Papa put a white fur coat around her shoulders and took her hand to lead her out of the bathroom, down the stairs, and to his car. 

***

They had a driver drive them to wherever they were going. It was a long ride but Papa managed to keep her entertained the entire time. She assumed that’s why he had a driver this time, instead of driving them there himself. Before they exited, his jovial fatherly demeanor turned serious, “Repeat it to me again.”

“Mia mamma è morta in un incidente d'auto. Fa male a ricordare. Per favore non farmi parlare di esso,” she replied obediently and as easily as breathing.

Papa nodded, satisfied with her fluency, “Vittoria, this is a very important party. I mean it, do not embarrass me _._ Do not misbehave. Do not disappoint me.”

Marilyn felt small, “I promise Papa. I’ll be a perfect princess.”

Papa smiled and gave her a kiss on the cheek, and together they exited the car. Stepping outside was shocking to her senses, the lights and scenes in front of what could be called a mansion were overwhelming. There were nativity scenes that rivaled the one in front of their cathedral, _not that Jesus would care of course._ There was a single pathway that led to the front of the house that had a large fountain in its center. Green grass, statues, and other art decorated the front, but none of this compared to the house itself.

The mansion was made entirely of brick with high stained glass windows and large pillars, that stood almost as large as their church’s back home. It was tall and imposing, but that’s not what made Marilyn anxious. It was the number of people inside that made her heart heavy and her stomach churn. _I wanna cry. I wanna go home._ She held her Papa’s hand a little more tightly as he led her in and said with a croaky small voice, “Please don’t leave me alone tonight.”

“Shush principessa, you’ll be alright. I’ll make sure someone you know is always with you,” he said comfortingly.

She whimpered but put on a brave face that Papa was expecting. She had a role to perform. Two scary-looking men were at the door who spoke darkly with Papa, not that he seemed scared, who finally let them into the foyer. _Dear God,_ she thought. It was like the inside had been touched by that Midas guy because everything inside was golden and expensive. There were yellows, whites, golden statues, and large paintings everywhere. There was a grand staircase that held a balcony up top, that’s height matched where the crystal chandelier was. 

As pretty as they were, Marilyn was always anxious that a chandelier would come undone and fall on her head, killing her instantly. This is why she always walked around its perimeter because _you can never be too safe._ The grand room felt like it was vibrating from the loud music playing that was drowned out by people talking. Not that she could understand their conversations. Everyone seemed so happy because they all had smiles and were talking animatedly with their hands.

Finally, she heard her Papa’s name being called, his Christian one as a large portly man came over with his equally large wife. They had dark features, but they were all smiles and warm eyes like Ms. Sagesse’s. Their cheeks were rosy and they had smile lines around their eyes and mouths, so she reasoned they were probably nice. Papa greeted them with a wide smile and greeted the man with a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the back. _So they’re close…_

Ms. Sagesse said when people address you by your Christian name and give you a kiss as a greeting then they know you well. Papa kissed the woman’s hand before the three sets of eyes were on her. The woman looked at her with a sense of adoration and gasped before speaking a rapid string of Italian to her; the only part she could understand being “Signorina Borghese.”

Papa said something before turning to her with a smile, “Go ahead and introduce yourself principessa.”

“Salve, il mio nome è Vittoria Borghese,” she introduced clearly.

The woman gasped and the man said something to Papa with a smile. Papa gestured for her to extend her hand, which she did with a smile (as fake as it was) for the man to take and kiss. He said some words, and she recognized _ragazza_ and _dolce._ “Grazie,” she responded kindly.

She felt like a show pony as all of the eyes were on her. Finally, the man introduced himself, speaking slowly, “Io sono il Sig. Bianchi e questa è mia moglie Sg.ra Bianchi.”

 _Okay, they want me to call them Sig. Bianchi e Sg.ra Bianchi._ “Salve Sig. Bianchi e Sg.ra Bianchi. Grazie per averci invitati,” she replied sweetly.

“Siamo così emozionati che potreste venire stasera. Nostra nipote ha detto tante cose meravigliose su di voi,” Sg.ra Bianchi said warmly.

Marilyn barely understood the first half of that and looked towards Papa to translate. “She just said they are excited to have us here and their niece has said many wonderful things about you,” he said with a smile.

Marilyn cocked her head, “Who’s their niece?”

“That would be me,” floated a familiar warm voice.

Sg.na Sagesse came in, her black hair tucked up in a bun with a few tendrils framing her pretty face. She wore a dark blue floor-length silk dress with a silver beaded evening wrap. Her earrings looked like teardrops that matched the necklace nearly meeting her cleavage. Marilyn could hardly believe she’d wear a dress that revealed the top of her breasts during Christmas Eve! _Mama would always call those ladies_ _whores._

 _Why is she dressed like a whore? Sg.na Sagesse can't be a whore! She's too much of a lady!_ The young woman kissed Papa on the cheek and did the same with Marilyn, though this time she didn’t ask for permission. “How’s my favorite little girl?”

“This dress is itchy,” she replied dumbly.

Papa squeezed her hand hard, but Sg.na Sagesse just laughed, “But you look very pretty tonight.”

“Grazie, sei carina,” she smiled.

The women awed at her. It was one of the first sentences she asked Sig. Venturi to teach her, so she could tell Sg.na Sagesse. It was a few more minutes of the four adults talking before Sg.na Sagesse “stole them” away, just for her to take them around and see other adults. Yes, she met tons of people but their faces and names blended together, and it was especially difficult when a lot of them had the same last names. Currently, she was watching Papa talk with a group of four older men, some of whom looked at her with interest. 

She didn’t like the way they were looking at her, even though they were smiling. One man with moles on his face, gazed down at her, “Vittoria, un bel nome per una bella ragazza.”

“Grazie,” she responded with a smile even though she didn’t feel like smiling.

The man looked back at Papa, “Quanti anni ha ora?”

“Io ho otto anni,” she responded, as she was perfectly capable of saying how old she was.

The men looked at her with the impressed looks that adults gave to children. Fake and over the top. The adults kept talking, she guessed about her because they kept throwing around the words _daughter, girl,_ and her name around in their conversation. Sg.na Sagesse and Papa never stopped smiling, but both never bothered translating for her. _If they’re talking about me, then I deserve to know what they are saying._ Nevertheless, she smiled like a good girl.

Sg.na Sagesse finally spoke English, “Sig. Mazzeo just said he has a grandson around your age that he’d like you to meet sometime! Wouldn’t that be nice?”

She was smiling and Papa was looking at her expectantly. “Yes! That’d be fun,” she lied with a convincing amount of enthusiasm.

 _I hate boys._ With the little experience she's had with them, she’d never liked them one bit. They were rude, messy, and pulled on her hair! Rat-faced Rodney being the first that came to her mind. Marilyn never really had any friends, but when she wanted company, she preferred girls. She cursed herself for telling her Papa her desire to have friends because now it was coming back to bite her in her butt.

While Papa boringly talked with the men, Marilyn looked around for Sawyer. _Where is that slimy snake?_ They'd been at the party for forever (an hour and a half) and she had yet to see the man who put her in this awful itchy dress. Papa kept holding her hand tightly to keep her from reaching under her dress and scratching and would squeeze it hard when she tried using the other one to relieve herself. Sg.na Sagesse took the other hand when it got to be too much and held it, albeit more gently. She whispered down at Marilyn in English, "You'll scar yourself if you scratch too much sweetie."

Marilyn looked up at her with a pout, which Sg.na Sagesse smile sympathetically at. Her voice was soft and she had good intentions, but that didn't deny the fact that Marilyn was really uncomfortable. Marilyn began to squirm and desperately wanted to cry and complain, but _Papa wouldn't like that._ Being ignored and left out of the conversation made her only think of her discomfort. _I really didn't want to come tonight._

Mass already took most of her energy. Marilyn had nothing against priests, _honest to God_ , but she was certain that the one in charge had decided to use the most uncomfortable kneelers, picked the longest sermon (that she still didn't understand), and the longest songs. Then she felt even more pressure to be good because Sg.ra Giordano sat right next to them with her family. It was an odd, but not an unwelcome change. The cathedral was more packed than usual so the pews were squeezed with strangers, who did _not_ know how to sing. Typically, the people in their Catholic church could sing fairly better than the one back in America, but that bar was pretty low. Still, the whole experience felt suffocating and isolating at the same time.

The church vibrated with the voices of the worshippers and smelt of sweaty people in their nicest clothes pretending to be good Christians who always went to church. _No, no, they don't go to church as much as I do. They aren't as good as_ _Sg.ra Giordano!_ The woman was as focused on the whole mass as Papa was, which really was annoying because Marilyn would've preferred at least _a little_ attention during the whole thing. _I got a pretty white blanket though_! The woman had knit her a blanket for Christmas which was currently on her bed at home...where she wanted to be. 

_It's probably more comfortable than this damn (sorry God) dress._ Her thoughts were broken as Papa's voice changed, hinting at the end of his conversation. _Finally. That took a trillion years off of my life! I can't wait to go home._ Papa said a few more words to the men before three of them left and the one with the grandson stayed. The man smiled at her and gave her a polite kiss on her hand, that she’d make sure to wash when she got home. Papa turned to her with a smile, “I’m going to talk with Sig. Mazzeo a bit and try to set up a time you and his son can meet. Stay with Sg.na Sagesse and be good.”

He gave her a kiss on her cheek and left her alone. _Great._ “Isn’t this nice? Just having some girl time,” she smiled.

“I hate it when he leaves me,” she whispered sullenly.

“Oh sweetie, I’m sorry,” she said as she cradled her cheek, “Why don't we go find my aunt? I’ve talked a lot about you and I know for a fact that she definitely wants to spoil you.”

“Really?” she asked, her body perking up with enthusiasm.

“Mhm, let’s go!” she said, taking her hand and leading her to find her aunt.

It proved harder to find Mrs. Bianchi than Marilyn had thought, given how big the house was and how many people were there. "I've never been to a big party before," she said in a weary voice.

"Oh? And how are you liking it so far?" Ms. Sagesse asked, gently looking down at the girl.

Marilyn shrugged, "I dunno."

Ms. Sagesse chuckled, "Well I'm glad you're here. It's so boring talking to all of these stuffy adults for hours."

Marilyn gasped, "I know, right?!"

"Really, it's the worst. You're much more fun," she smiled.

"You are too! I really like you," Marilyn complimented, "Why aren't there any kids here?"

"Some people didn't bring them, and I believe the ones who are here are in a room specifically for children," she said, her attention focused on scanning the crowd for her aunt.

"Why aren't I with the other children?" Marilyn asked insecurely.

"Oh sweetie," Ms. Sagesse said in a syrupy voice when she saw the child's crestfallen face, "We just thought it'd be best that you'd be with people who spoke English. That way you didn't feel left out."

 _I already feel left out. I can't understand what you're saying and no one talks to me. They talk **about** me, in front of me, like I don't even exist. _"Wasn't that considerate of your daddy?"

 _I'm supposed to say yes._ "Very," Marilyn mumbled.

Ms. Sagesse was fine with her answer whereas Papa would've punished her for her tone. Still, she was upset now knowing she wouldn't meet or play with other children because she couldn't speak Italian. _I'll be alone forever. He could've left me with Sg.ra Giordano though. We can have a good enough talk._ Marilyn sank into her sadness, which Ms. Sagesse must've not noticed. _She wouldn't purposefully ignore me. Right?_ Her stomach turned, her face grew hot, and she felt an uncomfortable pressure in her chest. _I want Papa..._

They **finally** found the woman they were looking for who spoke rapidly. Marilyn had no idea what was going on. Just that her cheeks were pinched, she was kissed and hugged by this total stranger. Sg.ra Bianchi spoke to her niece who then spoke to Marilyn, "She says you're very beautiful and you look like your Papa. She's also asking if you're hungry." 

"Um...grazie e sì," she responded with the little Italian she knew.

The woman animatedly talked with Marilyn and she quickly learned that they didn't have any meat dishes on Christmas Eve. _A Catholic thing I think._ But they did have fish, which confused her because she always thought of it as meat and disappointed her because she hated seafood. _I can't be impolite though._ It was like picking the lesser of three evils: squid, clams, or shrimp. "She's asking which one do you want first?" 

"Fi..first?" Marilyn stuttered.

 _I can't eat all of this_! She wanted to cry but for her and Principessa Snowbell's sake, held it together. "I guess...I guess I'll have the shrimp first," she said shyly.

It wasn't even a sample size! The woman gave her a full plate of it and sat with her and Sg.na Sagesse as she slowly ate. The women didn't mind her pace as they looked like they were gossiping. _Isn't that a sin_? Marilyn ate the pasta first, which was unfortunately tangy from the shrimp. It wasn't so much the smell of seafood, not that she liked it mind you, but the visual of the shrimp itself. It's like they were babies lying in the fetal position, which unnerved Marilyn. 

When the pasta was entirely gone, she took little bites of the shrimp with a shrimp fork, which prolonged her suffering. It got worse when the women paid attention to her as Sg.na Sagesse bragged about how polite she was and how well she was doing in her etiquette classes. _Come on!_ "She just said you're such a little lady," Sg.na Sagesse laughed lightly, "An absolute little princess."

Marilyn smiled in thanks as she was still chewing. The woman said something else, which translated to, "You look like one too. You look so lovely in that dress and your hair is just stunning."

"Thank you. My Papa did it for me," she said proudly and politely.

Marilyn, despite her earlier protests, did like it when her Papa made her look pretty. Not the process or the discomfort of the outfits, but the look itself gave her a surge of confidence. The woman frowned at Marilyn's response and turned towards her niece. The only thing Marilyn understood was the word _Mama._ Marilyn interrupted when she saw the woman's questioning gaze, "Mia mamma è morta in un incidente d'auto. Fa male a ricordare. Per favore non farmi parlare di esso."

Her response sent Sg.ra Bianchi into a fit of mothering and smothering. She reached for her hand and her hazel eyes widened with a desperate need for Marilyn to understand as she spoke quickly, too quickly as Sg.na Sagesse struggled to translate at the speed her aunt was speaking. "My aunt says you are welcome here anytime, and that if you need anything just let her know. She'll give Leo-, uh your Papa, her number. You're very young, but if you have any future questions just for girls, she'll be happy to," Sg.na Sagesse cut herself off and said something to her aunt before returning her attention to Marilyn, "happy to explain anything."

Marilyn had no idea what that meant, nor did she know how to respond. She simply nodded. _I'm not looking for another Mama. And I already have Sg.ra Giordano. It feels wrong to love another person like I do her...Still, I won't be rude._

Marilyn's nausea from earlier got worse, much worse. Her tummy really hurt and she felt the terrible need to use the bathroom otherwise she'd embarrass herself. Marilyn managed to escape to the bathroom and vomit in the toilet, saving herself from embarrassment, but her throat burned and her eyes stung. Upon seeing the sight of the shrimp scampi, and still feeling the disgusting shrimpy taste in her chest and throat, she threw up some more. She was in there for a little too long, long enough to concern the women. Her body ached, and her tummy still hurt. When she left the bathroom, the evidence was clear as day to Sg.na Sagesse what had happened. "I feel sick," Marilyn said, tears brimming her eyes, "Will Papa be mad?"

Sg.na Sagesse didn't respond but just put her hand to Marilyn's forehead and frowned. "Penso che sia malatai," she said worriedly to her aunt.

Whatever she said must've been serious, because if she hadn't been suffocated by the Sg.ra Bianchi’s affection before, she was now. The attention wasn’t too bad, but it was overwhelming. Marilyn swore she felt on the verge of passing out which prompted the two women to take her into a guest bedroom and allow her to lie down without anyone noticing. _Thank goodness_. _Papa would've been upset if I caused a scene._ The rooms had been too warm, stuffy, loud, and suffocating. _Too public to make a fuss._

She appreciated Sg.ra Bianchi’s efforts to make her feel better, especially when she covered her back with something to soothe the itch from that damn dress. Her skin felt sensitive and when she tried reaching back (before her hand was smacked away), it felt bumpy. Her shoes and stockings were taken off, and wet washcloths were applied to her limbs. The attention was pretty nice, but it was overwhelming. Sg.na Sagesse rubbed her back in small circular motions as the other woman tried to distract her with a lullaby. _I still feel yucky. How will a song help?_

No one bothered to tell her what was happening to her body, however, she was feeling too terrible to ask questions. _Where's my Papa?_ Tears streamed down her face. _I want my Papa._ They probably hadn’t been in the room for that long, but it felt like an eternity before Papa found them and told her a date had been set for her to meet Mazzeo’s grandson. _Terrific. Can’t wait._

When Papa finally noticed something was wrong, he listened to Sg.na Sagesse explain, however she did it in Italian. _They both speak English! Why won't they talk about me in front of me in English?_ As irritated as that made her, she felt a little better now that her Papa was here. Thankfully Papa had the decency to decide to call it a night and take her home to treat her like the little principessa she was. Before they left, Sg.na Sagesse praised her for her excellent manners and told her that her Papa should be proud, which Marilyn greatly appreciated because she certainly thought she was a failure when she had gotten sick. Sg.ra Bianchi fawned over her, and Marilyn was sure that the conversation between the older woman and her Papa took a long time, however, she succumbed to exhaustion and only remembered waking up in the middle of the car ride home. “Papa?” she asked with sleep in her voice.

Everything was dark and she couldn’t see a thing, but she felt the car moving and that she was on someone’s lap. “Shh dolcezza, you’re okay. We’re almost home,” Papa said soothingly, hoping she’d go back to sleep and stay asleep.

“Did I do good?” she whispered as she adjusted her head on her Papa’s lap so the headpiece wouldn’t stab her scalp.

 _Dear Lord, please let him say yes._ “You did terrific principessa. I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” he said as he pet her hair.

“I got sick,” she whispered.

“No one saw. You’re okay,” he said comfortingly.

Her body sagged in relief, releasing tension that she didn’t even know she had. _I’m not used to this. Mama never made me do these things…_ “Do we have to do this again?” she yawned.

“No. Tomorrow will be just you and I. How does that sound?” he whispered as he moved his fingers from her hair to stroke her face.

“It sounds good,” she slurred as her eyes drifted closed.

“Go to sleep principessa, and when you wake up it’ll all be better,” he said, placing a kiss on her palm as he moved his hand up and down the side of her body.

Marilyn didn’t do so much as speak, as she fell asleep before she had heard those words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poor thing is just being put through too much. She was bound to get burnt out again. Holiday parties are the worst and I remember always getting sick at them as a kid. Fingers crossed it won't happen again this year 🤞 
> 
> Also, there will be a chapter for Christmas, but I wanted to do this one too 💕


	18. Buon Natale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn spends her first Christmas with her Papa and without her Mama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, but one for the holidays!

_Marilyn giggled as Papa twirled her around in a green silk dress. The orchestra was playing a slow song, but the ballroom was noticeably empty save for her, Papa, and Mama. **Mama**_. _She let out a small gasp at the sight of her. Mama who was in a stunning matching green gown elegantly dragged on the floor. Her Mama was wearing diamonds, lots of diamonds with green jewels beaded into the necklace and earrings. She wore a matching crown and looked very much like a queen._

_Marilyn found it odd because it was never Mama’s taste to dress this way nor smile so lovingly at her daughter, but she wouldn’t complain. “May I cut in?” she smiled, kissing Papa on his cheek._

_“Miss your husband already?” Papa smirked._

_“Actually, I was talking about my daughter,” she smiled, her green eyes glittering as she reached out for Marilyn._

_Marilyn happily wrapped her arms around Mama’s neck as Papa handed her over. Papa said something, not that she could hear. All she could focus on was Mama. “I missed you,” she whispered._

_Tears beaded Mama’s eyes but she still wore a smile, “I’m sorry I left, but I’m here now.”_

_Marilyn snuggled into the crook of her neck and listened to her Mama hum gently. “I’ve missed you so much Mommy,” she choked._

_“Shh,” Mama soothed before beginning to sing, “‘Tis the song, the sigh of the weary…”_

_“Hard times, hard times, come again no more,” Marilyn sang the only lyric she knew by heart._

_“_ _Many a days you have lingered around my cabin door,” Mama sang softly in Marilyn’s ear._

_“Oh, hard times, come again no more,” Marilyn sang, completing the lyric with her mother in unison._

_“You’ve always had the sweetest singing voice,” Mama cooed, “I’ve missed it so much.”_

_Suddenly, Marilyn was on the couch in her pajamas. But not her couch in Sicily, her_ **_real_ ** _one on Sycamore Drive. Mama was there too, it was like they’d never left and nothing awful had happened. And Mama looked like Mama. She was wearing a mismatched set of pajamas, probably because one was lost in a hamper or pile of clothes somewhere. Marilyn smiled at the sight of her looking so natural._

_Mama brushed the curls out of her face and smiled down at her daughter gently, who was gently tucked like a duckling under her mother’s wing. There was a show playing in the background, not that she could hear. “Merry Christmas Marilyn,” Mama whispered, kissing her on the cheek._

_Marilyn snuggled closer, looking up at the eyes that matched her own. Her voice choked, with despair and happiness, as if the two could coexist, and smiled up at the person she missed the most in the world, “Merry Christmas Mama.”_

“Buon Natale mia principessa,” whispered a voice that broke her out of the most wonderful dream.

When she woke up, the reality of her situation came crashing down on her. Her heart sank, tears brimmed her eyes, and it seemed that an emptiness and heaviness coexisted in her chest. _It was just a dream. Mama’s gone. Really gone._ Marilyn let out a shaky breath, “Merry Christmas Papa.”

Papa’s smile turned into a concerned frown, “Principessa, are you not feeling well?”

He felt her forehead with the back of his hand, checking for fever or for any cause of her misery. But it was something that hurt that couldn’t be healed by medicine. “I’m fine Papa,” she said sitting up, “I just miss Mama.”

“Oh dolcezza,” he said softly, scooping her out of her bed and cradling her close to his chest, “I’m sure she’s looking up at us and is happy that we’re together.”

Marilyn snuggled into her Papa’s chest before frowning, “Down at us.”

“Oh right, down at us,” he corrected with a smile, “I don’t want you to be unhappy today, especially when there’s a pile of presents for you downstairs.”

Marilyn’s mood brightened a little and squealed as Papa readjusted her so she sat on his hip. _Maybe it won’t be so terrible after all._

***

Traditionally, there would be a big Christmas lunch with friends and family but Papa kept true to his word and spent almost the entirety of the day with Marilyn alone. When the time came for Papa to open his present, she felt her stomach turn into knots. She thought back to when she went into town to get him his gift and had insisted on giving him the ornament she had made instead of buying one. A homemade ornament when an incredible glass ornament would’ve fit like a perfect puzzle piece on their Christmas tree. 

At the time, she was so excited about making him an ornament covered in red and green glitter, that then formed a shade of brown, while painting “ _World’s Best Papa”_ on it. Anyone could tell a child had made it with the purest form of love for their father, however, the giveaway was how ugly it looked. Ms. Sagesse suggested buying something else, and now Marilyn had felt that she should’ve listened. In the past, her homemade gifts received no gratitude and ended up in the trash a few weeks later. As Papa opened the gift, she bit her lip and tears beaded her eyes in nervousness. _I should’ve bought him something. He’ll throw it out like Mama did. I wonder if he’ll be nice enough to try and hide it in the garbage like she did._

Marilyn had hoped every year that for once, _just once_ , Mama would keep it. That Marilyn wouldn’t find it in the trash a little while later. She had gotten into the habit of searching the trash, in hopes that it wasn’t there. But it always was, buried under cereal boxes, banana peels, and eggshells. _I worked_ ** _really_** _hard on them too_. She discreetly wiped her nose on her sleeve as she watched Papa unwrap it. _Why didn’t I buy him something? Why didn’t I buy him an actual card, instead of making one? Why do I even do this every year?_

She wondered if Papa would lie to her and say he loved it, instead of just saying a polite thank you. _At least Mama didn’t lie_. Mama never kept her art if it was given to her as a gift. If Marilyn wanted to keep it, she had to put it on the fridge or keep it in her room. The crinkle of green wrapping paper finally stopped as it was discarded back into the gift bag. Watching Papa open his gift felt like an agonizingly long time even though it was a short process given how poorly it was wrapped by the eight-year-old, but she had wanted to do it all by herself! _I’m good at doing things by myself._

Marilyn looked away, not daring to see his expression but eventually, curiosity got to her given that he hadn’t said anything. When she saw him, she saw a soft smile creep onto his face and his eyes shine with something that she couldn’t really understand. “Papa?” she asked insecurely, “I-I’m sorry...I should’ve gotten you something else.”

 _I never do anything good enough for him...or Mama._ She was ready for her heart to break when he answered. “Principessa,” he said softly, “I love it.”

Her voice cracked, “You do?”

 _If he’s lying, he’s very good at it_. “I really do principessa,” he smiled.

Her voice grew watery and she looked away, “It’s...it’s not very…”

“You made something for me to show how much you love me. It’s proof of your love dolcezza...that I’ll have it forever,” he said as he pulled her into his arms.

 _“I’ll have it forever.”_ She wouldn’t believe it, she _couldn’t_ believe it. _He’s lying. Like all adults do to children so they don’t hurt their feelings. He’ll throw it out like Mama._ She whimpered in his arms and he tensed, “Do you think I’m lying?” 

_Yes._ “No,” she shook her head, “But...no one’s liked my homemade gifts before.”

Her words translated into, _Mama’s never liked my homemade gifts._ Thankfully, he didn’t ask her to elaborate. “They weren’t deserving of your love then,” he said, smiling into her curls, “Let’s put it on our tree.”

Papa got up and scooped her into his arms, handing her the ornament to put on the tree. “Make sure to pick a good spot,” he whispered into her ear before kissing her cheek.

Marilyn picked the most noticeable spot possible, so she’d know if he had removed it. _I just can’t believe he liked something I made_. “How’s that Papa?” she asked.

“Perfect, Vittoria,” he said before putting her down.

When her small feet softly touched the floor, she looked up at him with a vulnerability and innocence only a child could have, “I also made you a homemade card too.”

Papa smiled down at her, “Show me.”

Marilyn got on her knees and reached underneath the couch, as she hid it down there last minute. She made two cards as part of one of her Italian lessons and gave the other one to Ms. Sagesse along with her own ornament and a homemade rainbow bracelet made with a mismatched set of beads, both in size and color. _I wonder if she opened her gift yet. I wonder if she likes it..._ Papa’s card was in a white envelope and made with blue construction paper because boys like blue. “Here you go Papa,” she said, handing the letter to him.

He smiled and opened it. In her opinion, the card was much prettier than the ornament as she made a nice border on the front and in very nice cursive writing wrote, _Buon Natale_. Marilyn may have not been very good at math, language arts, social studies, or anything academic BUT she had the best handwriting in the class and she was the only one who could write in cursive at her age. The words had been traced in glue and then dark blue glitter had been dumped over it to give it a bright look. Sig. Venturi looked like he had regretted letting her use glitter, but really, it was all in the name of art.

Papa opened the card which read:

_Caro Papa,_

_Ti amo. Grazie per avermi amato._

_Sei il miglior papà del mondo. Buon Natale!_

_Amo suo figlia,_

_Vittoria_

It was the small details that impressed Papa. The cursive was written in pencil and traced over in black ink to make it look more “royal.” She had signed the card as _Vittoria_ to please him because he didn’t like it when she wrote her name as Marilyn on her school assignments. And in the bottom right corner of the card, was a tiny blue paw print from Principessa Snowbell. The cat stepped in some paint and Marilyn was inspired to have her “sign it” too. 

Papa grinned and said a quick thank you before pulling her close, “Do you know what the greatest gift I got this Christmas was?”

 _Me,_ she thought optimistically. She shook her head, “No, Papa. What is it?”

“You, principessa,” her heart melted, “You’re the greatest gift. I’ve wanted you for a long time and I’ve worked so hard to have you. God is smiling down at our little family.”

Marilyn’s lower lip wobbled and to prevent her onslaught of tears, threw herself towards her father’s chest, and started crying in joy. She never felt so loved as he held her there, her face pressed into his blue silk pajamas that’s color matched his eyes and its texture suited his voice. All of the riches in the world couldn’t buy the happiness she felt at this moment. _And I would know because I’m rich._ The pair genuinely smiled after being granted what they had been denied so long. 

After their moment, Marilyn unwrapped the rest of the gifts from Santa. For a while, she was very worried that Santa wouldn’t find her because she moved so suddenly but he must’ve found her because he left her a big pile of presents under the tree. Papa said that as long as there were treats left out for him, Santa would come. Marilyn ended up getting everything she wanted because Santa got her everything her Papa hadn’t gotten her! _His powers are amazing!_

Marilyn then read the story of Christmas to her Papa, all in Italian and she didn’t mess up once! His smile and pride were the best gifts she received that day. _Actually, it was the tiara and tea set he gave me, but his smile came a very close second!_ Papa taught her to dance and he played with her and her new toys. And that was just in the morning! Together they made a big lunch while he told her the story of Befana who was a hag, she didn’t like the sound of that word, who’d come into their home and leave candy or coal (she sincerely hoped it was candy) and would sweep their house before she left. _I don’t know why. Papa is good at keeping it clean._

Her first Christmas with Papa was blissful until she heard the door knock and saw who stepped inside, “Charlie! It’s good to see you!” 

“What’s _he_ doing here?” she asked in a snotty voice that Papa did _not_ appreciate.

“Vittoria,” he said sternly.

“It’s quite alright,” Sawyer said, putting his hand up in protest and acting as if he were trying to take the high road instead of trying to upstage her, “I’ve cut into your time with one another during the holidays.”

 _Yes, you have_. “She knows better than to be rude,” Papa said, sending a glare her way that promised something awful later.

Marilyn pouted, “I didn’t mean to be rude Papa. I’m so sorry if I sounded that way.”

No one believed her performance. “And I forgive her. Water under the bridge, so please don’t be offended on my account,” Sawyer schmoozed, “To answer your question, _my dear_ , I’ve decided to take your father up on his generous offer and spend the holidays in Italy.”

 _This is the worst. It’s because I burned the ants. Isn't it God?_ Sawyer leaned down and kissed her hand, his eyes meeting hers. _Bastard._ “We’re both thrilled to have you here,” Papa said, putting his heavy hand on her shoulder, “Isn’t that right?”

Marilyn huffed before smiling, “Yes that’s right. I’m so excited you’re here Uncle Charlie!”

“I would’ve come sooner, of course, however, I was tied up. Such a shame I missed Bianchi's Christmas Eve party and missed seeing my sweet niece wear the dress I bought for her. I bet you looked like a little doll,” he smirked as he dropped her hand and stepped away to look at her Papa, “I hope you took lots of pictures Leo.”

Marilyn scowled at him. _It took an hour before he let me leave the frame of the camera._ Papa laughed, “Don’t worry, we took plenty. She was the belle of the ball.”

“I bet,” Sawyer said smugly.

 _He didn’t come on purpose._ Marilyn narrowed her eyes at the man who continued to look at her pleasantly. _Just wait_ , she thought with a glare that promised terrible things to come. 

“We’ve made plenty to eat, so please come and join us for lunch,” Papa said, gesturing for Mr. Sawyer and Marilyn, to follow him into the dining room.

They both took their seats close to her Papa, and she suddenly realized why they made so much food. Mr. Sawyer and Papa talked about adult stuff that didn’t really interest her like Sawyer’s work, donating to causes, how that Nixon man was elected president in the United States, etc. “How have you found him to be?” Papa asked Sawyer as he put a cup to his lips.

“You met the new president?!” Marilyn gasped.

No, she didn’t really care about Mr. Nixon or know much about him, except for what Mama said, but she did know that he was a very important person. _He’s going to be the next president_! “I did,” Mr. Sawyer said smoothly, before turning back to Papa, “And he very much appreciates your contribution to his campaign.”

“Tell him not to make a fuss,” Papa said generously.

“Either way, his campaign would like to thank you with their own...," Sawyer looked over at Marilyn before returning his eyes to Papa, " _Christmas gift_. They know how generous you can be,” Sawyer smiled.

“Daddy’s very generous,” she said, using the word she had just learned in class and was now using every chance she got so she could sound more grown-up, “He gives to charity all of the time!”

“He is,” Mr. Sawyer smiled, “Though I think they’ll be hard-pressed to give you that gift until he’s inaugurated this January.”

"Why can't they just mail it?" she asked.

It wasn't her place to ask and the adults responded by ignoring it. “I’m a patient man,” Papa grinned, “But I’m glad for Nixon’s results.”

Even though she was annoyed that she was ignored, she couldn't help but be excited. _My Papa knows the next President. He_ ** _really_** _is like a King!_ Her heart soared as she imagined being introduced to very important people, and though she didn’t like new people, these were _important_ people so she’d bear it. _This is why he’s having me work with Sg.na Sagesse._ Marilyn thought of her tiara in the next room and dearly wished she could go get it and let her imagination take her away to incredible places, but realized she’d just have to make do at the table. 

Lunch was a long affair and Papa said she should go take a nap while he talked with Mr. Sawyer. Given that she already received her presents, she found that this was a perfect opportunity to get back at Sawyer. She sneakily left her room and quietly left through the back of their mansion and into the garden. Marilyn went to her usual spot where she found her ants and collected them in the glass. It took a long time, because she had to collect them one by one, but she managed it.

Like Santa, she left Sawyer a gift- or a lump of coal if you will- in his coat that was vulnerably hanging up in a closet. Marilyn desperately wanted to put them on his collar and in his hat, however, her young stature prevented her from doing that. She had to settle for releasing the ants into Mr. Sawyer’s pockets and into his sleeves as that was the only place she could reach. _Let’s see how_ ** _you_** _like itchy clothes._ Marilyn smiled in satisfaction and went to return upstairs, no one the wiser to her acts of mischief. _Merry Christmas Mr. Sawyer._

Marilyn played around in her tiara for a while, pretending to dance with her Papa, the President of the United States, and a handsome prince, before she fell asleep. Her dreams were sweet and whimsical and they played out the story she was acting out before she took her nap. When she woke up, she was mildly disappointed to be told that Mr. Sawyer had left and thus she wouldn’t get to see him squirm, but that in no way dampened her day. After all, he _had_ left! He had actually left her a teddy bear that wore a t-shirt that said, “Nixon’s the One.”

It was courtesy of the campaign, _whatever that meant_ when they heard Papa had a little girl. _If they could send me my gift for Christmas, why couldn't they send Papa's?_ Her eyes widened and she gasped, _it must be big and really expensive_! Her imagination soared over what he'd get, completely ignoring her own gift. The bear stayed buried away under all of the other presents, so she wouldn’t have to look at it. The eyes were too beady. _I'll just give it to Snowbell for her to chew on and scratch._

Papa apologized to her for “forgetting” that he invited Sawyer, but he made it up to her by doting on her every wish for the rest of the day. Yes, they had to go to Christmas Mass, but that wasn’t so bad because at least she knew some of the people there. There were a lot more people than usual, some that she'd never seen before. Mama used to call them Christmas Tree Christians who only went to church on Christmas. It didn't bother her though, because it was so squished that Sg.ra Giordano had to sit next to them!

The Mass was long, like _really_ long! Not that she dared to complain out loud less she get another pop on the mouth. After Mass, she received gifts from some of the congregants and spent time being the subject of the women's’ affection. She still wasn’t entirely comfortable with their smothering hugs, but she was getting used to them and the gifts and motherly attention made it worth it. She excitedly gifted Sg.ra Giordano a homemade picture she drew of them together and a box of chocolates like Sg.ra Giordano gave her when they met. The woman's smile infected her with good feelings for the rest of the night.

Bedtime came way too soon after Mass but Papa decided to make it easier on her and let her sleep with him. She was dressed in her Christmas nightie which was red with a green collar and green trim on her sleeves. Her hair was braided with red bows fastened at the end. Papa said she looked "Positively adorable. Like a little doll!"

After a few last-minute pictures of her in her Christmas pajamas, she climbed into Papa's bed. When he settled in, Marilyn curled herself into his side and wrapped her arms around him. If Mama had been there, she would’ve called the day perfect. But Mama wasn’t, and so she couldn’t. Still, it was pretty darn close and she could at least call it one of the best Christmas' she ever had. She decided that all seven Christmas' with her Mommy would be constituted as a "best Christmas". No, she couldn't remember the first four Christmas' very well, but she was sure they were perfect!

With that thought, she wiggled her toes underneath the covers and snuggled her face into her Papa's side, feeling at peace. Her eyes fluttered shut like a butterfly would flap its wings. “Merry Christmas Vittoria,” she heard Papa whisper softly.

“Merry Christmas Papa,” she said with a smile.

Marilyn felt him gently kiss her head before falling fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a small inside look at Leo's perspective of the gift-giving scene. https://archiveofourown.org/works/28326363
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! I hope you all have a wonderful time!


	19. Operation Be My Valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn Winslow plans an elaborate operation in order to ask her Papa to be her Valentine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of a wholesome chapter 💕

**February 12, 1969**

Marilyn Flora Winslow was on a top-secret mission. You see, in a few days' time, it would be Valentine’s Day and Marilyn fully intended to ask her Papa to be her Valentine. Naturally, this meant that she had to create the most elaborate and over-the-top Valentine’s Day proposal. Unfortunately, being eight-years-old had its drawbacks and that meant that she couldn’t hire a string quartet, order twelve dozen flowers, or buy a super-duper chocolatey cake, but _at least I can make him a present! He loves my presents_! 

She had to enlist the help of Sg.na Sagesse to get her the necessary art materials for her present making, which she would do instead of her etiquette lessons. “Did you get it?” she whispered loudly as she shut the door tightly behind her teacher.

“I did,” Ms. Sagesse smiled, “Everything on your list.”

Of course, Marilyn had to verify that statement and nosily went through the grocery bag full of craft supplies. “That’s good. Everything’s here,” she nodded pleasantly, before looking up curiously, “Did you ask her about me?”

“Who?” Ms. Sagesse asked.

“Carmen, of course,” she explained.

 _I don’t get why Ms. Sagesse wouldn’t let me go back to the shop. I really wanted to see Carmen_. Ms. Sagesse had a stiff smile. “Aw, I’m sorry sweetie. I didn’t get the chance,” she lied.

Marilyn pouted, _damn._ “Well that’s okay, next time!” she said brightly, “Because we’ve got lots and tons of work to do!”

Marilyn pulled out beads and string to begin making her Papa a keychain. Yes, she’d only seen the craft done once two years ago under the supervision of an adult who knew how to do it, but _of course,_ she remembered. How hard could it be to recreate it?

***

It was a long and exhausting process that took an eternity (an hour and a half) and included three frustration fits, but Marilyn Winslow powered through and ended up with a keychain that looked like a heart...sort of. The beads were unevenly aligned and not all the same shade of red, but Ms. Sagesse said that gave it character and adults always told Marilyn it was important to have character so it must’ve been fantastic! And what’s better, she made it all by herself. _I didn’t even have Ms. Sagesse tie the string at the end_ ! “All done!” she said gleefully, as she dangled the keychain proudly, “Do you think he’ll _love_ it?”

Ms. Sagesse gasped in supportive awe, “Without a doubt!”

“I picked a keychain, because that way wherever he goes, he thinks of me,” she smiled dreamily.

Marilyn pushed her strands of blonde hair out of her face and stared at her gift. _I kind of wanna keep it._ She had no actual use for a keychain, but it looked so cool! _No, no. Think of how happy he’ll be!_ Marilyn loved seeing his face when she gave him art or gifts because he always looked like she gave him the Holy Grail. Her heart soared and her spirit brightened when she pleased him.

“That’s very sweet Vittoria,” Ms. Sagesse said softly, “I think it’s time we-.”

“No!” Marilyn whined, “I still have to make the card! It’s the **most** importantest part!”

Her teacher sighed, “We can do it tomorrow instead, but you have to get ready for dinner. Otherwise, your Papa will come in to check and discover his gift!”

Ms. Sagesse knew exactly what to say to get Marilyn to follow directions, and the speed she followed them when she believed her surprise was in peril of being spoiled could’ve made heads spin-off their necks. “Hide everything!” she squealed, trying to find a place to hide her craft supplies and gift in a room her Papa rarely ever came into.

She shoved her keychain under the red throw pillow on the fainting couch in the corner of the room and then spun around dramatically, and whispered covertly, “Tomorrow we start part two of Operation Be My Valentime.”

“It’s Valent _ine_ ,” Ms. Sagesse corrected with a warm smile.

“Oh,” Marilyn said and tested the word, “Well tomorrow we’ll start part two of Operation Be My Valentine,” she said in her spy voice.

“Okay,” Ms. Sagesse whispered with a serious look on her face that matched Marilyn’s.

“And you have to _pinky swear_ ,” Marilyn said, invoking the most serious of the secret-keeping promises, “To keep it a secret or else.”

Her teacher’s eyes widened, “Or else?”

“Uh-huh!” she nodded, holding her pinky out, “If you break a pinky promise you have to cut off your pinky.”

Or at least, that’s what she was told by Agatha Baumgardner when she was in the first-grade. And really, that made perfect sense to Marilyn, which is why you’d _never_ catch her breaking her pinky promises. Her teacher chuckled nervously, “I don’t know if I wanna risk my pinky.”

Marilyn frowned, “You won’t if you keep the secret.”

She still had her pinky up and it was beginning to hurt. _Just pinky-swear already_. With a shaky breath that held a semblance of a laugh, her teacher entwined her pinky with the child and promised under the threat of severing an appendage to keep her Papa’s Valentine’s Day gift a secret. _That wasn’t so hard_. With a pleased smile, Marilyn skipped out and got ready for dinner. 

***

**February 13, 1969**

The next part of Operation Be My Valentine was a lot harder to keep secret. You see, Marilyn wanted to use glitter for the card but when she used glitter, she used _a lot_ of glitter. Typically there was a big rule that glitter was under no circumstances allowed in their home because it would get everywhere! Like with their no juice rule, it was a hill that Papa would stand his ground and die on. _It’s unfair! It’s not even that messy!_

Due to this ludicrous law of the mansion, it took a little fibbing to have Ms. Sagesse smuggle some glitter in. _She doesn’t_ ** _need_** _to know it’s not allowed in the house._ The child didn’t have the foresight to realize Papa would know that it had somehow gotten in the house due to the handmade card having glitter on it, and the hard fact that glitter _always_ left a trail, but that was a problem for future Marilyn. Right now, she was pouring her heart, soul, and a sizable amount of sparkle on the Valentine’s Day Card that was made out of red construction paper (of course), white paper doilies that she trimmed to make a nice border, and heart stickers. The words on the stickers were in Italian and she didn’t really understand what they meant, but she guessed based on the colors it was Valentine’s Day-related so she wasn’t concerned too much.

In her finest cursive, she wrote:

_Caro papà,_

_Buon San Valentino! I made you this so you can always carry my heart with you. Ti amo! Grazie per avermi amato!_

_Amo,_

_Tuo figlia, Vittoria_

Ms. Sagesse was kind enough to help her with her spelling and grammar, so it’d be perfect. “It looks beautiful Vittoria,” she cooed, “You’re a very talented little girl.”

Her smile widened. _She thinks I’m talented!_ None of her teachers really complimented her that way before. One of her teachers, Mrs. Duncan, wrote _“Marilyn is sweet and helpful. She’s well mannered and a joy to have in class!”_ on her report card once and she couldn’t help but cut that part out and tape it to her dresser. It was the only good thing on that piece of paper. _I wish I took it with me. I wonder if it’s still there._

“Grazie,” Marilyn mused when she realized she’d been silent for too long, “It was my favorite part of school.”

“Do you miss school?” Ms. Sagesse asked as the child began packing the card and keychain into a little gift bag.

Marilyn shrugged, unsure of how to answer. _I didn’t like my teacher, I had no friends, and I was bad at school. But I still miss it._ She had no idea why she cared about a place that didn’t care about her or her Mama. “Sometimes I like school here better,” she admitted.

 _There’s no one to tease me or say bad things about Mama_. “Well, I’m glad I got to have you as my student,” her teacher smiled and put her warm hand on Marilyn’s shoulder.

 _I’m only your student because Mama died._ Marilyn didn’t let that thought show though and instead put on a smile for her teacher. “I’m glad too,” she said softly.

Marilyn continued crafting and then, unfortunately, got pulled into an etiquette lesson as if it was still a school day (it was). By the time dinner came around, she was exhausted. _Being a Valentine’s Day spy is_ ** _a lot_** _of work._ Marilyn loved Valentine's Day, because you got to do crafts, eat candy, and the color pink was everywhere! The class Valentine’s Day parties she used to have at her old school were so much fun, and even though she was the kid who couldn’t buy those shiny expensive Valentine’s Day cards for the class, that didn’t stop her from making them and bringing them. Yes, Rodney Lord and Lizzie Castle made fun of her “poor kid” Valentine’s Day cards, her nose stung at the memory, but _my Valentine’s Day card for Mrs. Duncan is_ ** _still_** _up on her wall a whole year later so hah!_

Just that knowledge alone kept her motivated to keep making them. Mama never bought her the cards and candy for the class party, so she had to make do with making her own Valentine’s and making her own treats. Using her adorableness and _incredible_ personality, she was able to get some of her neighbors to donate Rice Krispie treat ingredients so she could make them for her class because Mama wouldn’t buy any. She had to keep it a secret because she was sure she wouldn’t have lived to see seven-years-old if Mama found out she was asking for donations from their nosey judgy neighbors, but _desperate times call for desperate measures_. This all brought her to part three of Operation Be My Valentine, which was where she had to make her Papa her _world-famous_ Rice Krispie treats!

The problem now was that she had to rely on Sg.na Sagesse to get her the ingredients and she had no idea when she’d cook it secretly because Papa never napped while she was awake and would never let her near the kitchen if he wasn’t there because she could “get hurt”. _You reach for a bleach bottle_ ** _one_** _time and then you’re banned for life! I didn’t even drink it!_ “Vittoria,” Papa said clearly.

Marilyn jumped in her seat. She had hardly noticed her Papa analyzing her while she was deep in her thoughts because she was uncharacteristically quiet at the dinner table. “Ye...yes?” she stuttered.

“I asked if you were feeling well,” he said with a hint of annoyance in his voice, “You’re very quiet this evening.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said.

Papa’s eyes narrowed, clearly not pleased with her short answer but he didn’t pry. He sighed, “Well, what did you learn in school today?”

“Ummm…” she had to think because quite frankly she didn’t really pay attention, “We learned subtraction, and we learned...describing in Italian.”

“Oh?” Papa smiled, trying to engage her more, “What did you learn about subtraction?”

 _Crap._ “Um...how to subtract,” she said, not quite sure how to really explain what more there was to subtraction than just taking away a number from a bigger number.

“How did Signore Buccola say you did?” he pried.

 _Oh no. I usually don’t pay attention to him._ “He didn’t tell me I was stupid today,” she said dryly, “I think I did okay.”

“Vittoria,” Papa admonished, “Don’t use that tone when you speak of your tutors.”

Marilyn internally rolled her eyes, “Yes Papa. I’m sorry.”

There was a pause in the conversation and an awkward silence lingered in the air. “What did you do today Papa?” she asked.

“Nothing that would interest you. I just made a few calls, looked over a few contracts, and made sure everything in my line of work was going according to plan,” he smiled.

Whatever Papa did, it sounded like boring businessman stuff that she really didn’t care about. Thankfully, he didn’t talk a lot about it so she was spared from having to pretend to be interested and know what he was saying. “Oh, that’s nice,” she said in a short reply.

Papa raised an eyebrow, “Vittoria, are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly.

Papa didn’t look like he believed her, but he dropped it. “This Friday is Valentine’s Day,” he smiled warmly.

Those words grabbed her attention. _Does he know? He can’t! Did Ms. Sagesse tell? She’ll have to cut off her pinky!_ “Yeah, it is,” Marilyn chuckled nervously.

“I made us a reservation at a restaurant. It’s very upscale, but I know you’ll be on your best behavior, won’t you principessa?” he asked.

“We’re going to a restaurant?!” Marilyn asked excitedly, bouncing in her seat.

She’d never been to a restaurant in Italy before, not that she went to restaurants very often in her hometown. It was always a special treat! “Yes, and you’ll get to dress up. I thought it’d be a great father-daughter date for Valentine’s Day,” he explained, “But you’ll be on your best behavior.”

Marilyn’s eyes sparkled and her smile met her eyes. “Oh, I will Papa! I will!” she squealed.

She rarely left their home, so she couldn’t wait for Friday. _Oh, should I give him his gift before or after? I should probably give him the treats when we gets home._ Papa realized he should’ve told her the news the next morning and not right before bed because her energy level spiked through the roof and she asked him incessant questions about going out. It took him an extra hour to put her to bed and even when he had turned out the lights and left, she remained wide awake. When she was sure he was out of sight, she grabbed her flashlight and played with her Mama doll, Papa doll, and the doll she used for herself to play the “Best Valentine’s Day Ever.”

***

**February 14, 1969**

The Rice Krispie treats had turned out perfect! And most importantly, Papa hadn’t come out of his office the entire time. Ms. Sagesse was a wonderful lookout, and now they could finally put Operation Be My Valentine into action. Marilyn had hidden all of her gifts in her classroom (Rice Krispies included) and she was ready for tonight! It was all she talked about in her last two classes because she knew she'd get in trouble if she went on about it in Mr. Lurch’s class. 

Operation Be My Valentine would be in three parts. Phase one: give Papa his keychain and card. Phase two: Dinner with Papa. Phase three: Give Papa, his Rice Krispie treat dessert. Marilyn had planned the night to a T, and even got to pick her outfit! Her dress was a soft pink color with a print of red hearts on the bodice. She deemed it suitably poofy and most importantly, it wasn't itchy. The sleeves were long to keep her warm in the cold winter, and for extra heat, she wore a white fluffy coat. _I look perfect!_ Papa of course did her hair, but she was content to let him do it. He went with a high ponytail with a lovely pink ribbon. “Simple but elegant,” he said as he finished tying the ribbon.

“Great!” she said happily, “Now it’s time for your surprise!”

She beamed up at him excitedly and her heart lifted when he smiled, “A surprise? For me?”

“Who else could it be for, silly?” she giggled and tugged on his hand, “Come on, let’s go!”

Marilyn practically dragged the man downstairs to the point he needed to grip the rail so he wouldn’t fall down. When they were in the foyer, she said in her most commanding voice, “Please go to the living room and I’ll be right back.”

She turned around without waiting for his response and went to retrieve her gifts. Sure enough, Papa had humored her and was standing in the room in his black suit. _He really is handsome. I can see why Mama loved him. She found her prince._ With a bounce in her step, she pointed for him to sit down to open his present. _I like being in charge._ She held out the gift bag, “Happy Valentine’s Day Papa!”

Papa’s smile met his eyes as he took the bag, “This is for me?”

“Uh-huh!” she said cheerily and took a seat by him, “I made it all by myself!”

“All by yourself?” he asked.

“Yeah! Now open it!” she bounced excitedly, her eyes glued to the bag.

Papa opened the gift bag and pulled out the card first _because you’re always supposed to open the card first_! He was smiling as he read it, and gave her a compliment on her cursive. She watched his expression, because she didn’t want to miss a second of his joy, and for the most part her Papa was happy except for the tiny part of him that was dying inside when some glitter spilled on him and the couch knowing that it’d never come out. “This is beautiful, principessa,” he cooed, “But what does this mean?”

Papa pointed to the line, “ _I made you this so you can always carry my heart with you.”_

“Well you have to open your gift to find out,” she said in a sing-song voice.

Papa opened the rest of the gift and pulled out the keychain, Marilyn’s proudest creation. “Ohh principessa, I love it,” he said as he held it up to inspect it, “Thank you!”

Papa pulled her into a hug and gave her a fat kiss on her cheek, making her giggle. “Papa?” she asked in a small voice.

“Yes?”

“Will you be my valentine?”

“Principessa, I’d love for nothing more than to be your valentine, but can I ask you something?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Will you be _my_ valentine?”

Her wide grin could’ve been pure sugar, it was so sweet! Her green eyes glittered with adoration and appreciation. “Yes I will Papa!” she squealed and wrapped her arms around him.

Papa held her tightly to his chest and stood up, keeping her in his arms. “Are you ready to go, Vittoria?” he asked, his blue eyes twinkling.

Marilyn nodded and slipped gently out of his arms, watching him take his keys out. “Alright, but first I better put this on,” he said as he clipped his keys to his keychain, “Now it’s perfect.”

Marilyn’s chest bubbled with happiness and slipped her warm hand into his, and let him lead her out the door. 

***

The restaurant was fancy schmancy! When she first went in, the adults looked annoyed to see her there, but she was so good that she got compliments from older couples and the waiters about how she was such a “polite little girl” and was “so well-behaved.” Or at least that’s what Papa told her because all of the compliments were paid to her in Italian. Her table manners were finer than some of the adults, which Papa attributed to Sg.na Sagesse but Marilyn insisted that “I was the one who learned.”

“You thought Italy had puppets that came to life?” Papa asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Yes. It was that way in Pinocchio because Pinocchio lives in Italy,” she explained.

“Well I promise you that there are no living puppets here,” Papa chuckled, “And _if_ there were, I’d protect you from them.”

“What about from perverts who steal kids, turn ‘em into donkeys, and sell them to a circus?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“Vittoria, don’t say the word _pervert_ in public,” he whispered and when she nodded, he sighed, “People can’t turn into donkeys, but I promise again, I’ll protect you from anyone and everyone.”

Marilyn smiled warmly, “Thank you.”

Papa laughed, “So is that all of what you thought Italy was like?”

“No, I also thought there were talking crickets, cats, and foxes. I’m sad that Snowbell can’t talk,” she pouted.

“What do you think she’d have to say?” Papa chuckled.

“I dunno, cause she can’t talk,” Marilyn laughed at the ludicrousness of the question.

“Remember, say the entire word. I _don’t know, **because**_ she can’t talk,” he explained.

“Okay. I don’t know, because she can’t talk,” she corrected, “I think she’d say...hmm...,” she tapped her chin and looked up thoughtfully, before gasping with her idea, “That we’re the bestest owners ever!”

“The best owners ever?” Papa repeated, using the correct form of the word best.

“Uh-huh,” Marilyn nodded, “But we’ll never know because it’s not like Pinocchio. Did you see it, Papa?”

“I did,” Papa nodded, “I can’t say I enjoyed it as a child.”

“Was it because of the puppets?” Marilyn whispered, leaning in as if what he was saying was a secret.

“Well, partly but I didn’t appreciate the way they portrayed some Italians,” Papa said solemnly, “Like Stromboli.”

“Ohhh,” Marilyn gasped and whispered in a scandalous tone, “Was it because they made him scary and mean?”

Her eyes were wide with interest and while Papa _could’ve_ gone into a long conversation about the time period the movie was produced in and how the relations were between America and Italy, the propaganda being produced, harmful stereotypes, and the anti-Italian sentiment he faced from his American peers when the movie was released, he decided to forgo it. He concluded that his dear principessa didn’t need to know those types of things yet. “Yes, principessa,” he smiled.

“Well that was very wrong of them,” Marilyn said with a great sense of justice, “Because Italians are good people and not scary.”

Papa continued to smile but he was eyeing the room, hoping no one understood English well enough to pry in on the content of their conversation. “You’re Italian,” Papa stated.

She’d been told that before, but now she was finally starting to feel it. No, Marilyn wasn’t fluent in the language but she felt welcomed in her new community in a way she hadn’t felt in America. “Yeah, I am,” she grinned, tilting her head, “I can’t believe the movie was out when you were a little kid. How old are you, Papa?”

“I’ll be forty on August 2nd,” Papa said.

“Forty? You’re so old!” she exclaimed, not loudly enough to be a nuisance but loud enough to demonstrate her dramatics to her father.

“Forty isn’t old,” Papa scoffed.

“Yeah it is. You’re ancient,” Marilyn teased.

Given that eight-year-olds have no concept of time and age, the age of forty was indeed _ancient_. “Oh you’re absolutely right, I’m incredibly ancient,” Papa teased, “That’s how I know so much.”

“Yeah, you had like a bajillion years to learn math and different languages,” she smiled, “How did you learn English, Papa?”

“I moved to America with my father when I was ten, so I had to learn the language,” he said.

“What about your mama?” Marilyn asked.

She noticed something flick across her Papa’s eyes and his posture change, and for a moment she thought she was in trouble. “She died,” Papa said after a tense silence.

Marilyn’s lip wobbled and she hopped off of her seat and went over to her Papa to give him a big hug. Papa looked surprised and took her hug, “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“We’re alike,” she mumbled into his neck.

 _Poor Papa lost his mamma too! Then he had to move to a new country to live with his pappa and learn a new language. It’s really really really hard._ “Yes we are,” he said with what she imagined to be sadness in his voice.

They broke their hug and she returned to her seat and knowing the feeling he was experiencing because _I feel it every single day_ , she changed the subject, “We have each other and you’re my favorite valentine ever!”

Papa went back to smiling, “And you’re mine.”

There was so much Marilyn wanted to know about her grandparents, but even she could tell it was a hard topic for Papa to talk about. If she hadn’t experienced the loss she had, she might’ve had it in her to pry but knowing his pain, she let it rest. For now. They resumed their conversation and she teased her _sweet surprise_ , pun intended, that Papa would get when they went home. He said if it was a sugary sweet then they better not get dessert, which made Marilyn almost fall off her chair in shock, _but he was just kidding!_

***

You’d think that eating a chocolate fudge cake would energize a child and keep them up all night, but in Marilyn Winslow’s case, you’d be wrong. The small child was carried to the car, fast asleep on her Papa’s shoulder, and didn’t so much as stir on their car ride home. The sight she made could give you a toothache, it was so sweet. Her soft eyelashes fluttered in her sleep, and her entire being looked peaceful, which was a rare sight. In fact, her father could’ve sworn that he hadn’t seen her look so tranquil since she moved in with him. He debated waking her up to change into her nightclothes but decided she’d regret it in the morning and that her ponytail was too tight to let her sleep comfortably.

Marilyn was somewhat awake when Papa changed her and undid her hair, but she couldn’t be bothered to actually take part in it other than somewhat lifting her arms. She did feel him carry her back to bed and tuck her in. “Your treat,” she mumbled, her eyes closed and her voice laced with sleep.

“I’ll share it with you tomorrow morning,” Papa reassured.

“Rice Krispie,” she said somewhat coherently.

“Thank you for making that for me,” Papa said, brushing the hair out of her face.

She’d never know that Papa knew _exactly_ what was going on. After all, it was his house and his rules and there was no way he’d let his darling daughter in the kitchen alone. Papa had planned with Ms. Sagesse to have her supervise Marilyn’s cooking and craft time, though he left the ideas and imagination to the child. Marilyn would never know, but she enjoyed herself and that was all that mattered. Papa gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead, “Good night principessa.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she whispered.

Marilyn was fast asleep by the time he replied, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Vittoria. I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's little ol' me again. Posting things out of order. Then again, I didn't come up with it until now 😂 Happy Valentine's Day everyone!


	20. Boys Are the Worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn has her playdate with Signore Mazzeo's grandson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The title of the chapter does not reflect the author's views and merely is the opinion of the main character who is an eight-year-old girl.

Ever since Rodney Lord had pulled on her pigtails in kindergarten and refused to apologize, Marilyn had decided to hate boys. It was the one thing Mama agreed with her on and she gladly engaged in a conversation that discussed all of the awful things that could be found in the behavior of the opposite sex. Marilyn never understood how girls were called “natural sinners” when boys did it all the same. _No, girls are just the ones who get punished._ It was entirely unfair!

Marilyn remembered sitting in the backseat listening to Mama rant about men, _“Men think they can take whatever they want! They’ll fuck you over in every way possible and then leave you with their mess!”_

_Marilyn was happily chewing on Cheerios as she furiously nodded in agreement. Mama raved like a fiery Pentecostal preacher warning her congregants, in this case, her daughter, of the sins and dangers of men. “They’re lustful greedy pigs!” she shouted._

_"Yeah!" she agreed._

_Marilyn didn’t know what lustful meant, but she didn’t bother to interrupt her Mama. By the time they parked in their driveway, the flames of her Mama’s anger dissipated and like a put-out campfire, all that was left was a depressing pile of ash. “And you know what Marilyn?” she said in a choked voice._

_“What Mama?” Marilyn asked, unable to see the tears in her Mama’s eyes and voice._

_“There’s not a damn thing you can do about it,” she said tiredly._

_Marilyn’s eyes met the identical ones of her mother in the rearview mirror. At the tender age of six, Marilyn couldn’t find an adjective (they were still learning nouns in her grade) to describe the look her Mama was giving her._ _For a moment everything was silent and whatever Mama was feeling or deciding, it didn't work out for Marilyn because she felt her heart drop and an anxious breath escape her when Mama spoke, “Marilyn,” she said shakily, “Get inside. I’ll be in my room.”_

 _Marilyn frowned, her heart sinking with disappointment. For a moment she thought her Mama was going to say something nice, or decide she wanted her daughter’s company. **Pretty thoughts**. But whatever was troubling Mama stayed on her face and in her spirit. _ _With a heaviness in her heart, Marilyn clumsily exited the car, leaving her cheerios spilled on the seat that Mama didn’t bother to scold her for. True to Mama’s word, she was in her room for the rest of the night while Marilyn fended for herself. She didn’t know what she had done, but all she felt was a festering resentment towards boys._

She remembered this memory as clear as day as Papa was preparing her for her playdate with Sig. Mazzeo’s grandson. “I don’t want to meet him,” Marilyn whined.

“Vittoria,” Papa scolded, “You were the one who was complaining about not having any friends.”

“But I don’t like boys!” she protested, “They’re mean and gross!”

She shuddered at the memory of Rodney picking his nose and wiping it on the back of her neck. “I’m a boy,” Papa laughed, “Do you think I’m mean and gross?”

She gasped dramatically, “Never! You’re my Papa!”

Papa chuckled, “Well that’s a relief.”

“But _other_ boys are gross! Like Rat-faced Rodney,” she complained, “They’re not like you, daddy.”

“There may come a day,” he said bitterly, “Where you may find yourself loving another man more than me.”

“Nope! Never gonna happen,” she said confidently, “Because I’m going to marry you!”

“You’re going to marry _me_?” Papa asked playfully, “Why Vittoria Borghese, what an unconventional way to propose marriage!”

She didn’t know what “unconventional” meant, but she figured she’d find out later. “I didn’t propose Papa,” she pouted, “Girls can’t propose. _You_ have to do it! With a ring too.”

“Would you like diamonds?” he asked teasingly.

“Obviously,” she said in her most spoiled voice.

When he finished her hair, Marilyn finally thought to ask, “Papa, what was your and Mama’s wedding like?”

The question had been budding in the back of her mind for a while. Mama had never mentioned Papa, and thus never mentioned their wedding nor did she have any pictures or a ring. It was up to Marilyn’s imagination to fill in the gaps of this part in her parent’s love story. “It was magical,” Papa said, “She was the most beautiful I’ve ever seen her that day. Her eyes shined brighter than the diamonds on her bodice. I remember the train following her down the aisle, it didn’t even get all the way to the altar, it was so long. It was truly the happiest day of her life.”

As Marilyn was going to ask another question, Papa cut her off “I’ll bet you’ll look just like her when you get married.”

“Really?” Marilyn asked hopefully.

Mama was very pretty and nothing would make Marilyn happier than looking like her when she grew up. Papa nodded and hoisted her on his hip, “We have a couple of hours until Signore Mazzeo and his grandson arrive. Let’s go into the backyard and I’ll show you what our wedding was like, hm? We can play wedding. I’ll be the groom and you’ll be the most beautiful bride.”

Marilyn quickly agreed and she could honestly say it was the most fun she’d ever had. Papa changed her hair to look like Mama’s, dressed her in a different dress like Mama, and reenacted every scene of his and Mama’s wedding. Marilyn really wanted her own wedding but was still adamant in her dislike for boys, however, _I’ll always have Papa._

After an hour and a half of playing, she was spent and Marilyn began to fall asleep in Papa’s bed, her gentle eyelashes fluttering shut as she ignored Papa leaving the room. She fell into a dream of a couple, her parents, waltzing on sunset clouds like Aurora and Phillip did. _My life really is magical._

***

Her sweet dreams ended as Papa lulled her out of her sleep, gently kissing her on her forehead like Prince Phillip did to Sleeping Beauty when he tried waking her up. Papa did that every morning, so she could “feel like a princess”. As her eyes fluttered open, she groaned in a very unprincess like manner. “Vittoria, it’s time to wake up. The Mazzeo’s will be arriving shortly,” he spoke softly.

Marilyn groaned and buried her face into his pillow. “Vittoria, don’t make me peel you out from under those blankets,” he said with a hint of impatience.

She gave a little grunt which resulted in Papa tearing off the covers and scooping her into his arms. “I don’t wanna,” she whined.

“I expect you to be on your best behavior and to be polite. No matter what,” he said strictly, “Is that clear?”

With a little huff, she said “Crystal.”

“Get rid of that tone Vittoria,” he said sharply as he carried her downstairs.

“Sorry,” she said half-heartedly.

When she was set down, she could hear the gates creaking in the front. Papa made a last effort to fix her hair from the bed head she created from her nap. It took everything in her power not to swat his hands away, though she did try to lean out of his reach. Either he was satisfied, gave up, or ran out of time because he stopped touching her hair. “Put on your smile,” he instructed.

Marilyn slipped on her ‘happy mask’, which she started calling it when she wasn’t feeling particularly happy but had to _look_ happy. _Showtime._ Papa smiled at her with what she believed was pride and he opened their wide doors to feature a black car rolling up to the front of their house. One look at it told you it was expensive and that the owner wanted you to know it was expensive, not that she could see who was inside. The windows were pitch black to hide its occupants.

Eventually, the gravel stopped crunching as the car parked. A chauffeur exited the vehicle first and Marilyn made the comment with a derisive scoff, “They have a driver?”

 _Rich, stuffy people had drivers_. Papa heard the derision in her tone. “ _We_ have a driver,” he responded, still grinning.

The man opened the door for Sig. Mazzeo, who stepped out with a smile. Sig. Mazzeo for his age still had a full head of hair albeit grey with some black streaks. Life had been eventful for him given how he had lines everywhere on his face: forehead, smile lines, frown lines, crows feet, you name it. His eyes were a greyish blue color that held a mischievous twinkle you’d see in grandfathers who let you have a cookie when no one was looking. The man was an inch or two shorter than Papa, not that she really took notice because everyone was a giant to her.

He greeted Papa jovially and then refocused on her, taking her dainty hand and pressing it against his lips. “Signorina Borghese, un piacere rivederla,” he grinned once he pulled away.

“Grazie,” she said politely.

She forgot he knew barely any English. _I hope his grandson knows some._ Papa said something, Mazzeo frowned and turned around to shout at the car. It took a little less than a second for a gangly boy to step out. He was lanky, bony, and tall.

 _With a kick to his knees, I could probably take him down_. His black hair was slicked back by an ungodly amount of pomade that featured his widow’s peak. The style of his hair did not look like his own doing and he was most likely wrestled by his own parents to get it styled. He wore a red sweater over a white collared shirt and black slacks that needed black socks to completely cover his legs. With his thick brown-rimmed glasses, she couldn’t help but think of him as a total dweeb. _He’s like Poindexter but with hair!_

She saw him set his eyes on her and both shared the exact same thought, _we’re nowhere near the same age._ He looked like he was in fifth or sixth grade, while she was in the middle of second. _I hate Papa._ Mazzeo forced him over to say hello and upon closer inspection, she saw that he was going through the “changes” like Carmen was with a few pimples on his forehead and redness around his cheeks. _Please, Lord, don’t let me get pimples when I grow up. Your humble servant, Marilyn F. Winslow._

His big dweeby glasses enlarged his dark brown eyes, several shades darker than Ms. Sagesse’s. “Hello,” he said politely in an _American_ accent.

“You’re American?” she asked happily.

“Um yeah,” he said.

“Introduce yourself, dear,” Papa prodded, pushing her forward.

She looked back at him and then at the boy. “I’m Vittoria,” she said so politely she could feel Ms. Sagesse smiling from wherever she was.

“I’m Emilio,” he said with a clipped tone.

 _Don’t talk to me that way. Buddy, you can’t be too picky when choosing friends. Have you seen yourself in the mirror?_ She kept her smile on her face, though it was starting to hurt given how hard she had to force it to stay up. “Nice to meet you,” she said.

It was a terse meeting and thankfully Papa and Mr. Mazzeo started talking animatedly and guided the children inside. As the boy entered the house, his eyes grew comically wide with the wonder of the grandeur of their mansion. It looked like he didn’t know where to set his gaze, which made Marilyn smug. _Our house is very nice._ “You live here?” he said, his mouth gaping a bit.

“Uh-huh,” she said before smirking, “Well my Papa lives inside. I live outside in a doghouse.”

Emilio’s eyes widened, not catching her joke. Unfortunately for her, Papa heard that and hissed, “Vittoria.”

She smiled and laughed, and when Papa saw it was in good nature he returned to his conversation with Sig. Mazzeo.

"I'm kidding. We don't have a dog! But we have a cat. Her name is Principessa Snowbell," she prattled on enthusiastically.

Marilyn happily followed the adults into the kitchen who began pouring themselves adult juice. Marilyn thought it was pretty early for that, but then remembered that Mama poured herself adult juice really early on in the day. “Where do you live?” she asked, trying to make conversation.

“With my family in America? In a little house, but right now I live with my Nonno. His house is a mansion,” he responded, still taken with the house, “Or in his words, a villa.”

“Why are you in Italy?” she asked, smoothing out the skirt of her dress.

Emilio looked uncomfortable with giving an answer and gave her a short reply of, “Vacation.”

“Ohhh,” she said and decided to add, “I’m here because my Mama died.”

“Vittoria,” Papa said sharply and she didn’t know why.

She gave an honest answer. “I’m sorry,” the boy stammered, “That’s awful.”

At the boy’s stammering, his Nonno chastised him. Emilio straightened up a bit and when his grandfather turned his back, he rolled his eyes. If Marilyn had done that, her Papa would’ve probably ripped her eyes out. Marilyn moved on from that topic of conversation fairly quickly. “It’s okay. I like living with my Papa!” she said before whispering, “But you’re the only other kid I’ve seen since moving here though.”

“You don’t have siblings?” he inquired.

Marilyn didn’t hear the pause in the conversation her father was having. “No, I’m an only child,” she said happily.

Although she was sometimes lonely, she was happy with having her Papa’s sole attention. Marilyn loved being, in her Papa’s words, a _Daddy’s girl_. “Lucky, I have three. They’re all a lot younger than me. My sister Nicky is, uh... how old are you?” he asked.

“I just turned eight,” she said proudly.

 _Okay, my birthday was in December BUT it feels like basically yesterday_. Emilio’s face became strained, “Then you’re right about Nicky’s age. She’s going to be eight in July.”

Marilyn’s smile tightened. _I could’ve hung out with a_ **_girl_** _and a girl who was_ **my age**. Marilyn was seething inside and she could tell Emilio was too, given that they were entirely mismatched in age and interests. Still, he seemed really nice and he was polite to her as they had lunch. In fact, he was almost brotherly in his mannerisms towards her since he helped pour her drink and cut some of the tougher meats on her plate.

 _If having an older sibling means having someone to do things for you, then I want one_. They talked about American tv shows together, which was a short and stunted conversation considering she was still watching cartoons and he was moving on to more “grown-up” tv-shows. _Cartoons were for all ages! Mama watched them with me, except for Loony Tunes Pepe Le Pew shorts._ Mama _hated_ Pepe Le Pew.

_“He loves her Mama! That’s why he’s chasing her!” she argued._

_“That skunk is a stalker and a sexual predator! Look at that poor little kitty cat’s face!” she screamed pointing to Penelope Pussycat, “Does she look like she wants him?”_

_“No, but…” she began before Mama interrupted._

_“No, she does not! If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll shoot him dead. If a man does that to you, I expect you to do the same.”_

It ended with Mama ranting until her voice gave out, some crying, drinking, and the next day Marilyn learned how to shoot a gun for the first time. _It was loud and my arms hurted, but it was fun._ She hit the target and for the first time in her life, Mama had said “Good job Marilyn!”

As they finished lunch, Papa sent her and Emilio off to “play” or whatever while he talked with Sig. Mazzeo. Marilyn looked back at him and his face was stiff with a smile that could fool anyone, but she could tell his demeanor was off since the beginning of lunch. _I hope he’s okay._ When the adults went into Papa’s office, Marilyn with bright sparkling eyes asked, “Wanna play pretend?”

Emilio’s smile fell off his face. “Do I look like I wanna play a little kiddie game like pretend?” he sneered.

Marilyn took a step back and her lower lip formed a pout. _He could’ve just said no._ “Well, what do you want to do?” she asked nervously.

She hadn't the faintest idea of what older boys did for fun. “I only came here because my Nonno made me. I don’t want to _play_ tea party, dolls, or any of your little prissy games with you,” he said venomously.

His attitude changed so quickly, she could feel her neck have a phantom ache from the emotional whiplash. “Why, why are you being mean now?” she asked, wondering if she had done something wrong.

Marilyn truly thought she was being nice. She had smiled, been polite, and she thought she had made a friend at lunch. _My first friend._ Her big heart was sitting in her stomach. For the first time in a while, a pressure settled on her chest and her tummy churned threatening to spill her lunch out onto the floor. _What did I do wrong?_ Tears beaded in her eyes and her nose stung in sudden sadness. 

“You’re just too sensitive,” he said in a mean voice.

“I am not!” she said, stomping her foot.

 _He’s being mean and hurting_ **_my_ ** _feelings. It’s his fault I’m sad. Not mine._

“Are you going to cry on the floor too? Like a little baby?” he teased.

 _It’s not worth fighting back,_ her mother’s words echoed in her head, _There’s not a damn thing you can do about it._ Her eyes misted, but she refused to shed a tear, “I’m not gonna cry! I’m not a baby,” she said angrily.

“I can see the tears in your eyes you little priss,” he said before scoffing and turning around, “If anyone asks, I’m taking a walk outside.”

It was wrong, she knew it was. But she wanted to do this to boys like Rodney for so long, and in a fit of frustration kicked him behind his ankles. The weak little dweeb fell to the floor and his glasses tumbled off of his face and under the couch. _Weak ankles._ “You little brat,” he grunted as he got up and violently pushed her back, sending her tumbling to the floor with a loud thud.

Marilyn landed on her bum and it _really_ hurt! She felt the pain radiate through her body and couldn’t bring herself to get up, but sitting hurt her just as much. With the throbbing ache, her tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. The boy widened his eyes in shock and fear when she started crying and stammered nervously, “If you tell if you tell...then I’ll...I’ll tell them the truth and say you pushed first.”

“And you fell over after being pushed by a little prissy girl,” she spat his words back venomously with a shuddering breath, “Go ahead and tell your Nonno that.”

 _Men don’t like being shown up by women._ “No one will believe that,” he said as he moved around, his eyes scanning for his glasses.

“They’ll believe you pushed me,” she scowled, watching him like a hawk, “You’ll get in a lot of trouble.”

 _I am_ ** _not_** _going to get in trouble for him being mean. Not like those other times. Papa will believe me._ When he found his glasses and set them back on his face, he turned around and brown soulless eyes trained on her. “Go ahead and be a little tattletale,” he said as he approached her.

Marilyn scooched back, every move hurting and causing more tears to fall. _I think I broke something._ A little sob escaped her chest and her heart almost leaped out as he yanked the collar of her dress forward, “But do you know what my Nonno says?” he asked with a smirk, “Snitches get stitches and thrown in ditches.”

Marilyn tried pulling away and she _swore_ he was gonna raise his hand, but whether or not he was or did, she couldn’t see because she had turned away and the only thing she could see is a white blur of fluff latch onto his arm with a vicious hiss. He shrieked boyishly as Principessa Snowbell sank her fangs and front claws deeply into his arm. Despite the pain she was in, she managed to scramble up and straighten herself, though that caused her more agony. “Get it off!” he yelled, his voice cracking.

He was shaking his arm furiously, trying to buck the cat off and release his arm but Principessa Snowbell held tight. Part of Marilyn was content to let the cat chew up his arm. _I don’t think I gave her a snack today._ The other part told her they’d all be in trouble if he was seriously maimed, so with a half-hearted sigh she said, “Snowbell, let him go.”

She reached out and delicately took her pride and joy from his arm, though the cat was reluctant to release him. Marilyn didn’t bother saying _bad kitty_ , because quite frankly she thought it was sweet of her kitten to defend her. _You'll get extra treats tonight._ She placed the cat on the ground who gave a menacing hiss to the boy, her fur sticking up and her fangs on clear display. Marilyn looked over at the whimpering mess of a dweeb who brushed up his sleeve to check his arm. “You’re not even bleeding,” she rolled her eyes, “Stop being such a pussy.”

“I’m telling and then they’ll put the cat down,” he said with heavily wounded pride, or what Marilyn assumed he tried to pass for it.

Her confidence regained a little bit and using her Papa expression, calm and detached said, “She was just protecting me after you attacked me.”

Knowing she had the upper hand, she pushed the limits, “Stop being a little bitch and get over it.”

Papa would’ve been mad as hell if he had heard her words, but _I’m mad as hell! He was mean to me!_ Snowbell was still in the room, in an attacking stance, waiting to protect her human again. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Oh wait, you can’t because she’s dead!” he spat, stabbing her heart with each word.

That was the final straw and Marilyn fled from the room, albeit at a slow pace due to her back. Every step hurt her and she knew there was no way she could make it up the stairs in her condition, so she tucked herself away in one of the classrooms. A swift movement of white followed her into the room as she locked the door. Sympathetic meows came from Snowbell whose blue eyes trained on her in concern. Marilyn stumbled toward the couch and slowly sat down, letting out a soft cry in pain. 

It wasn’t long until her kitten found a place on her lap, purring and meowing to comfort her because _he’s right...I don’t have a Mama. I shouldn’t have fought back. I should’ve held my tongue. I can’t do a damn thing._ Marilyn sobbed quietly in solitude and the ache in her back couldn’t compare to the ache in her heart over how much she missed and wanted her mother. 

***

Marilyn had calmed down and was petting Snowbell by the time she heard voices outside of the door. “We were playing hide and seek,” the little bitch lied, “I think she’s hiding in there because the door was open before and now it’s closed and locked.”

She could recognize the laughing voice of Mr. Mazzeo, but not the Italian he was speaking in. A light knock sounded from the other side of the door, “Vittoria,” her father said in a sing-song voice, “Are you in there?”

Marilyn shook her head, though no one could see, and refused to open the door. “They have to leave now, so the game’s over. You can come out.”

 _I don’t want to see that little bitch._ Marilyn had decided on his nickname from the moment the word “bitch” left her mouth. When she made no effort to move or make a sound, she could hear Papa sigh, “On the count of three...one…” he began.

Marilyn whimpered a little bit trying to stand up, having to push a snoozing Snowbell off her lap and hobbled over to the door. “Two…” he said slowly.

 _Put on your happy mask._ She slipped on a smile and rubbed her eyes. _Showtime._ Marilyn turned the lock and pulled the door towards her, leaving her a wide enough crack to peek out of. “Three,” he said with a smile, though she could tell he was upset with having to count in the first place.

“Found you!” Emilio laughed in the act, “You won this round, but I won the game.”

Her smile stayed on but her eyes screamed murder.“This time,” she said sweetly.

“Oh? There’ll be a next time?” Papa said with a smile lacing his voice.

 _Crap!_ Neither of the children said anything to confirm another meeting, but the chatty Sig. Mazzeo filled the brief silence. They were made to say goodbye, their eyes meeting and coming to a mutual understanding to not say what happened that day. _He won’t say a thing, and I won’t either._ The worst part was when he was made to kiss her hand. It was wet and he did it for a little too long in her opinion, _probably to make me mad_. _I’ll have to burn it._

Papa pulled her back when the boy didn’t move his lips away in a timely manner. Papa, like always, was polite but as Emilio walked away she saw Papa boring holes into the back of his head. Clearly, he didn’t like how touchy Emilio was with his daughter. After the grandfather and grandson drove away, he ushered her inside. Both of their masks dropped off of their faces and she let out a relieved sigh. “Sig. Mazzeo...has a lot to say...about a lot of things,” Papa said tiredly and shook his head, “The things I do for you.”

Papa walked ahead of her, loosening his tie. Marilyn frowned at his words, “I never asked you to invite them, Papa.”

She never said **not** to invite them, but she thought her attitude towards the whole affair made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want to meet them.

“Watch your tone, Vittoria,” he said, still walking away from her, “And do a better job at cleaning up your tear stains. I could still see them when you came out of the room.”

It was like a punch to the gut. _He should care that I’m crying_! _Boys really are the worst._ “Papa,” she began defensively.

He stopped and turned around towards her. His voice was cold, “Don’t give boys like him the power to make you cry. I don’t care what he said, it’s not worth showing him weakness.”

 _I’m not weak._ “He _hurt_ me Papa!” she cried in frustration.

 _So much for not snitching._ Papa’s expression became unreadable, “What happened?”

Marilyn’s lower lip wobbled and she sniffled, “I-I...boys are just stupid.”

Marilyn wiped her nose on her satin sleeve. “What did he do?” Papa asked darkly.

Neither of them had to clarify who _he_ was. _If you tell the truth, you’re breaking an agreement, but if you lie...Papa will punish you._ _What are you more scared of?_ She decided to be honest. Sort of.

“He was mean after you two left. He teased me, called me a baby, and then he pushed me down! My back hurts and it really hurts to walk!” she cried.

She conveniently left out the part where she pushed him first, Snowbell attacking him, and then him taunting her about Mama after she swore at him. Marilyn doubted she’d gain any sympathy if she included those details. Papa strode over to her and kneeled down to her height, “Lift up your dress, Vittoria,” he ordered.

Marilyn gave him a confused look but obeyed. Papa spun her around so her back was facing him. With one hand, he kept the back of her dress lifted up, and with the other he used it to slowly feel his way up and down her spine. She whined when he touched the bottom part. “Is it broken?” she whimpered.

“You’d either be paralyzed, unable to walk or move, or dead if it were broken. Given that you’re standing on your feet and you have a pulse, I’d say it’s not broken,” he said clinically before pressing on the sore spot again, “Is it here?”

“Ow,” she said.

“You might’ve bruised your tailbone. We’ll get another opinion, but for the next few weeks you won’t be able to move around too much,” he said as he spun her around to face him, “Let’s get you into something more comfortable, a few pain meds, and ready for a nap, hm?”

Papa wiped away the new tears streaming down her face. “I’m sorry Papa...for not getting along with him,” she apologized, “I really did try.”

“I know,” he smiled comfortingly, “Boys in this world are bad. They think they are entitled to you and deserve your attention, but all they’ll do is hurt you.”

“Not you Papa…” she said.

He grinned, “No, not me. Never. You’re my darling girl and you can rest easy knowing I’ll always protect you from them.”

Papa leaned forward and gave her a kiss on her forehead. She leaned into it, finally receiving the comfort she had so desperately desired. “I'll make sure you never see him again," he said protectively, before his voice laced itself with good humor, "He was a little runt anyway.”

“A total dweeb,” she laughed, “Did you see his glasses?”

Papa laughed and took her hand, ready to lead her upstairs. “I’d be ashamed if he were my son,” he said before stopping, an emotion crossing his face that Marilyn couldn’t quite place or name.

“Well good thing you only have a daughter,” she smiled up at him, squeezing his hand comfortingly.

Papa looked down at her, and it took several moments before he smiled. “Who I’m very lucky to have. The love of my life,” he said as he leaned down again to give her a kiss and then a tight hug which really hurt.

“Papa, my back still hurts,” she wheezed.

It took him a second to pull away, but when he did he gazed into her soft green eyes and cupped her face gently. Marilyn felt like she almost drowned in the dark blue pools of his gaze as she searched to understand something that she was forbidden from knowing, something she’d never know. “My precious girl,” he said softly as he tucked a curl behind her ear, “Your _father_ loves you so much. You know that right?”

“I love you too Papa,” she said warmly.

After hearing those words, his smile became more natural, and without another word, he carried her upstairs. Marilyn wrapped her arms around her Papa’s neck as he carried her up the steps, and gave him a kiss on his cheek before resting her wet tear-stained face into his neck. She inhaled the sweet floral scent of his cologne, allowing it to soothe her senses. _Safe. Papa’ll protect me from those nasty boys._ She vowed to never love a man more than she loved her Papa. _And he won’t love another girl more than me._ The vows they recited at their play wedding earlier in the day rang like bells in her head, _You’re mine and I’m yours._

No, Marilyn Winslow didn’t like boys. _Boys are the worst. But Papa is the exception_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the lines 100% based on this ask from Quieta's blog: https://raindrop-on-a-spiderweb.tumblr.com/post/614952169871998976/headcannon-mama-patience-forbidding-her-kids-from
> 
> This ask inspired me to write Once Upon a Dream 😂
> 
> I hope everyone has a really safe and happy New Year 🥳!!!


	21. Girl Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn and Ms. Sagesse share a moment together, which leads Marilyn to some shocking truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is...an emotional whirlwind.

**_February 23, 1969_ **

When Marilyn had gone down to breakfast that Sunday morning, she saw the prim and proper figure of Ms. Sagesse sitting at their dining table drinking a cup of tea dressed in her nicest Sunday clothes. Papa apparently had invited her to go with them, which Marilyn thought would’ve been nice to know ahead of time. _He usually tells me the schedule for the next day before I go to bed_ _..._

Marilyn didn’t mind at all and was actually quite excited about the surprise! Ms. Sagesse had helped her follow along in her English translation of the Bible, so for the first time, she knew what was going on! _I really need God today.“_ _Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted,”_ was the verse that she kept repeating in her head _._ Mainly because that was as far as she got before she lost interest in what the old man was saying, but _I at least tried this time!_

Services actually seemed to go faster and better yet, they got to go home early! Well, usually that would be the best thing to happen but, _I wanted to light a candle and say a prayer for Mama._ She told Papa that, but he said they couldn’t stay long and ushered her to the car quickly. And yes, she certainly voiced her thoughts to the two other passengers in the car, at least until Papa gave her a firm warning. The atmosphere was tense until Ms. Sagesse asked her who her favorite princess was, and the answer to that question filled the silence the entire ride home. 

When they got out of the car, and her Papa looked a little too relieved to do so, she was eager to say goodbye to her teacher and spend the rest of the day with her Papa. _You see, Sunday is mine and Papa’s day_ ! She held that special time with him dearly and was more than annoyed when Ms. Sagesse offered to entertain Marilyn (which was code for babysit) while Papa rested due to his aching back. _I am_ **_not_ ** _a baby! And I didn’t even see him fall._

Marilyn was a thousand percent sure that he’d say no, but he didn’t! He said they could have “girl time” for the next hour and that it’d be “good for her.” Really, she didn’t know that he meant it would be good for him. _I thought he loved me._ When he left her with Ms. Sagesse, she pouted for a good long while until her teacher finally coaxed her into playing with her dolls.

They sat upstairs in her playroom as she introduced her teacher to her two favorite princesses. “This is Cindy,” she said holding up the doll she deemed Cinderella, “And this is Aurora!”

“It’s an honor to be in the presence of such royalty,” Ms. Sagesse gasped, slightly bowing her head.

“They’re best friends,” Marilyn said excitedly.

“Why are they best friends?” her teacher asked eagerly.

 _She wants to know!_ Marilyn’s heart lifted a little. “Well, they’re both pretty and blonde and princesses! So they’d be the best of friends,” she explained her sound logic of why Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella got along so well.

“Just like you, huh?” her teacher grinned, pushing a strand of black hair behind her ear.

“Yep! Actually, we’re all the best of friends!” she said as she arranged her princess dolls into a better position, “And we have tea, go to balls, and do other princess stuff!”

“That sounds like so much fun!” Ms. Sagesse smiled with her eyes.

Marilyn took a little brush and started trying to tame the flyaway strands of Aurora’s hair, “Yeah, we always played together at recess! Sometimes we wouldn’t get along,” she said with a frown, “Because Aurora would ALWAYS want me to find a boyfriend, but I said no!”

“That’s a very smart move of you. You’re too young for that anyway,” Ms. Sagesse agreed.

“Yeah…” she said, still focusing on her task, “Then...then poor Cindy was always stuck in the middle, but we _always_ made up in the end!”

“That’s good,” the woman said as she took ahold of the Cinderella doll, “Did you play with anyone else?”

“No,” she pouted, “No one liked to play with me…”

It was quiet for a moment, as Ms. Sagesse took in the lonely words of the girl who was remembering all of the times she had to entertain herself at recess. “I’m sorry sweetie,” the woman said with pain and sympathy in her voice, “You’re such a sweet girl.”

“It’s okay,” she lied, “I talked with them in my head while I was on the swings. They’re super nice.”

“They seem like they are,” Ms. Sagesse agreed.

She stopped talking out loud to her princess friends when kids started laughing at her and calling her crazy, causing her to burst into tears. _They called me Mental Marilyn._ The first time they called her that, she went and hid behind a tree to sob in peace, even after recess had ended. Her teacher, Mrs. Duncan, and the principal had to go search for her, and she got in a lot of trouble. _Mrs. Duncan was nice, but not the principal..._ A phantom pain ran across her bottom at the memory of the paddle hitting it, and that didn’t even come close to what Mama did. Her nose stung at just the memory of it. Mrs. Duncan even talked to her Mama about talking to her “imaginary” friends, concerned for her well-being. _I was so embarrassed._

Seeing the sullen mood, Ms. Sagesse moved on with her questions, “Do you like the swings?”

Marilyn smiled again. “Uh-huh! I’m really really good at the swings! I can do it all by myself! I don’t need no one to push me!” she said proudly, her chest puffing out a bit.

“The proper way to say it is ‘I don’t need **anyone** to push me’, Vittoria,” she corrected, “But that’s amazing! I didn’t know you could do that!”

“I’m the best swinger at Summerfield Elementary School!” she grinned, “Mrs. Marks said I was really good at it too!”

“Wow! Is Mrs. Marks your teacher?” she asked with a twinkle in her eyes, truly enamored by the child.

“No, she’s the wife of the pastor from my old church,” Marilyn explained before frowning.

 _I’m not supposed to think about them._ She bit her lip, hoping she wouldn’t get in trouble but Ms. Sagesse didn’t seem to mind. “Well I think we need to find you a swing set, so I can see just how good you are,” she smiled.

 _That’d be so cool!_ Ms. Sagesse took an interest in her like no other adult had before, and it warmed her heart. They started playing with her dolls, which flattered Marilyn to no end! _Even Mama wouldn’t do that! But Ms. Sagesse will, and so would Mrs. Marks,_ she thought bitterly. _Papa plays with me too. They’re so much nicer than-_ She stopped that thought.

The second after it crossed her mind, she felt overwhelmingly guilty. _You’re betraying her! And today too? I’m a terrible daughter._ She swiftly abandoned the game and picked something else for them to do. _I won’t betray Mama._

Their next game was playing pretend and creating elaborate storylines. “Oh no! The Rat King has caught me,” Ms. Sagesse said dramatically for her character.

“I’ll save you from the lustful rat!” Marilyn shouted, adjusting her gold tiara on her head.

She gave Ms. Sagesse the pink one because pink was Marilyn’s favorite so thus by her logic, it had to be her teacher’s favorite too. Sg.na Sagesse paused and furrowed her brows in confusion, “Lustful? Do you know what that word means?”

Marilyn pouted, “No but I know it’s one of the sins. My Mama used to say that and whatever it means, it has to be true about boys!”

The woman’s frown didn’t leave her face, “Not all of them.”

“Yes all of them,” Marilyn said firmly, “They’re all stinky perverts!”

Sg.na Sagesse’s mouth was comically gaping, shocked by the words coming out of the eight-year-old’s mouth. “Sweetheart, why...why do you think that?”

“Because they are,” she said confidently.

She sighed, “Why do you hate boys so much?”

 _Do I really need to repeat it?_ “Because they’re stinky and lustful perverts,” she claimed, using all the words she could think of to describe boys.

Marilyn was ready to debate this with her entire energy. That little bitch Emilio proved to her everything she thought about boys to be true. _He was just like Pepe Le Pew, kissing my hand with his slimy mouth_! Marilyn was thinking about what her Mama would’ve said about the whole ordeal. Mama had told her it wasn’t worth fighting back but then told her to shoot a man dead if he tried treating her like poor Penelope Pussycat. Marilyn liked the latter of her mother’s advice and to Sig. Venturi’s concern drew a brutal drawing of Penelope killing Pepe with a gun (her Mama’s) that matched the story she wrote in Italian. 

She was quite proud of her art and her grammar was immaculate, so she had been quite disappointed when she saw Mr. Venturi frowning. It was the second time she got in trouble for a drawing and a story, the first time had depicted Sawyer being fed to wild tigers. Papa hadn’t liked that and had called her into his office. She wondered if she’d be called into Papa’s office again for the “Penelope is a Hero” drawing. _I hope not_.

“Vittoria,” she said softly, but Marilyn interrupted.

“That stinky Mazzeo boy pushed me down!” she tattled.

She refrained from referring to Emilio as “little bitch” in front of Ms. Sagesse. _She’d tell Papa._ Ms. Sagesse walked over and pulled out a seat next to Marilyn’s, “The American one?”

Marilyn nodded, “He was awful! Papa says I never have to see him again, but he _really_ hurt my feelings. He was gross and mean like all other boys!”

Really, all Marilyn wanted was another woman to take her side in the matter. Yes, Papa was the only boy she liked, but she didn’t want to be rude and complain about his entire gender to him. And with that question, a dam of emotions burst, and Marilyn felt all of her thoughts spilling out. She told him the names he called her, how he hurt her, and what he said about her Mama. Her teacher listened patiently as she ranted, looking at her thoughtfully and sympathetically as she complained. “And then, then he put his slimy lips on my hand and wouldn’t let go.”

“How horrible of him,” Ms. Sagesse agreed with her outrage.

“And then...then there was nothing I could...I couldn’t do anything about it!” she cried.

In a dead-serious tone, Ms. Sagesse said, “In my experience, I’ve found it extremely effective to skin their lips off with a knife.”

 _What?_ Marilyn’s eyes widened in horror and felt more than a little sick. Nausea welled up in her belly at the thought of all of the blood. Seeing her expression, Ms. Sagesse finally laughed, “I’m kidding Vittoria! It’s just a joke sweetie.”

Marilyn chuckled awkwardly, not really sure what to make of the whole thing. “I was about to say,” she stammered, “I was about to say that sounds really gross.”

It was so odd to hear something like that from her teacher’s lips, even if it was a joke. _She’s a lady and so nice._ Marilyn lost the color in her face at the thought of the blood... _Mama…_ “Vittoria sweetie, I’m sorry if I scared you,” her teacher said worriedly after seeing her expression, “It’s not something I should’ve joked about.”

Her body felt cold and it was like all of a sudden she was alone in the room, completely ignorant of the feminine presence next to her. “There was a lot of blood with Mama. So much…” she said numbly.

Whatever words she was saying out loud, she was unaware of them. _I miss you, Mama...I wanna hug you...Mama? Can you hear me? I wanna go home..._ Marilyn’s world blurred and she began mumbling under her breath. The chills didn’t leave her body until her small hand was taken into Ms. Sagesse’s, whose own warmth transferred over to hers. “You’re home now sweetie,” she whispered.

 _Mama held my hand like that. It was nice._ Suddenly she remembered that _only_ Mama could do that. The comforting warmth turned into a fiery burning when Marilyn noticed the resemblance between what Mama used to do and what Ms. Sagesse was currently doing. She immediately yanked her hand away as if she had held a hot piece of coal, as if Mama’s anger manifested beyond the grave and burned Marilyn for her momentary betrayal. _Today of all days...what’s wrong with you?! I’m sorry Mama! I’m not betraying you! I’m not meaning to!_

Marilyn looked at her teacher with distrust and betrayal. _Is she trying to become my new Mama?_ The woman frowned, “Vittoria, what’s wrong? Did I say something?”

Marilyn held her own hand to her chest. _You’re not my new Mama._ “I’d never try to be,” Ms. Sagesse said, shocking Marilyn that she had actually said it aloud.

“Then why are you being nice? You and the other lady are nice to me! Why?” she asked, not understanding why they would be so kind and caring towards her if they weren’t trying to replace her mother.

Her teacher didn’t ask who the other woman was. “Because that’s how you treat people. Treat children. You love them, hug them, and tell them they’re special.”

“My Mama didn’t,” she blurted out, “Everyone thinks they’re better than her! But you’re not.”

 _You don't have to do those things to be a good Mama. She...she watched me at the park. And...she...she taught me how to shoot a gun. Mama walked me to school. She was good._ Ms. Sagesse didn’t respond to her sad statement. “Vittoria,” she said softly, “I’ll never try and replace your mother, but I’d love to be your friend. Would you like to be friends?”

Marilyn didn’t even realize she was crying before she looked up and saw the soft figure of her teacher leaning towards her. _That’s different from being my Mama._ “You want to be friends? With me?” she asked disbelievingly.

“I’d like nothing more in the world,” she smiled happily.

 _This woman wants to be my friend. And she wants_ **_me_ ** _to be hers?_ Sg.na Sagesse was like a princess: elegant, graceful, soft, kind, and pretty. Marilyn was in awe of her when she first saw her, thinking she was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. _Like Snow White._ The fact that someone as glamorous as her would want to be friends with an eight-year-old girl like Marilyn flattered her immensely. 

“I’d...I’d really like that,” she stuttered before giving her a soft smile, “To be your friend.”

 _My first real-life friend._ Marilyn heard a meow in the far off corner and saw the figure of Snowbell come into the room. _First_ **_human_ ** _friend. Sorry, Snowbell. Of course,_ **_you’re_ ** _my first real-life friend._ With her two **real** friends, Marilyn continued to play their game. 

***

She eventually got hungry and had her teacher make her a snack. _Papa’s napping longer than he said he would._ She didn’t question how Sg.na Sagesse knew the kitchen and house so well. “Why is Papa still asleep?” she asked as her teacher put down a plate with a sandwich and some fruit in front of her.

“He had a...well he was up late,” the woman blushed, tucking her hair back behind her shoulders.

“Why?” she asked as she munched on a sandwich.

“Oh...uh...I wouldn’t know,” the woman said nervously, clearing her throat.

Marilyn had never seen her teacher so flustered. “Then how did you know he was up so-,” she was then promptly cut off. 

“Let’s move on,” the woman said quickly before sitting across from her, “How’s your snack?”

“Good!” she said after she finished chewing, “You’re a great chef! You should’ve been one and a teacher.”

The woman laughed, “Thank you!”

“Did you always wanna be a teacher?” she asked, taking another bite of her sandwich.

“I didn’t plan on it, no. I decided on it when I came back to Italy, but I never taught in the states,” she said as she sipped her tea.

“What did you do before?” Marilyn asked.

She knew Sg.na Sagesse and Papa worked together, but she never knew what her teacher did. The woman looked thoughtful for a moment, trying to find a clean way of describing her job to an eight-year-old child. “I was a...manager,” she smiled politely.

“Oh,” Marilyn said, not sure what that was, “What did you do?”

Her teacher pressed her tongue into her cheek, causing it to bulge. “I set up meetings between workers and clients,” she said slyly, “Looked at how money was being spent and making sure people were being paid. I also made sure people were following the rules. Just boring office stuff.”

“That sounds fun,” Marilyn lied.

 _I don’t want to be a manager._ The woman brushed off the attention to her job and redirected the question to the child, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“I’m gonna be a housewife,” she said simply.

 _“_ Really?” her teacher asked surprised, “Why?”

 _That question makes no sense. Mama only worked because she_ **_had_ ** _to. She’d be a stay-at-home Mama like the other mamas if she didn’t need to work. That’s what women do._ “Well, what else am I supposed to do?” she asked genuinely interested in the answer.

Alessia gently held Marilyn’s chin and turned her face towards her own, making the soft green eyes match the warm hazel ones. With a soft smile but firm voice, Ms. Sagesse said, “Whatever you want.”

“That’s how Eve got in trouble though _,_ ” she pouted, remembering her Bible studies teacher and Pastor Marks sermon, “Because she thought she could do whatever she wanted to.”

Marilyn had always been told that “good girls know their place” and while she didn’t like that place, it’d be blasphemous to try and move out of it. _I don’t want to go to hell._ Ms. Sagesse frowned, clearly unhappy that she didn’t get the answer she wanted nor predicted. She sighed, “Vittoria if you had to pick something besides being a housewife, what would you want to be?”

Her entire demeanor perked up. “I’d wanna grow up, marry a prince, and be a princess!” she said excitedly as she bounced in her seat.

It was said with such a childhood innocence and youthful optimism from a girl who had little of that left. And who could deny her her pretty thoughts right now, knowing she’d learn the horrors of being a woman in the world later? Ms. Sagesse gave a light laugh, “Well, I think you’d make an excellent princess, Vittoria.”

“I think so too,” Marilyn said confidently.

***

They decided to move back into the playroom and have a little tea party where Marilyn sat as the royal princess. The sight they made was adorable. “No Lady Marks, you must cross your legs! It’s not proper!” Marilyn scolded her doll whose legs kept unfolding, “People will think you’re a trumpet!”

“Trumpet?” Ms. Sagesse asked, her eyebrows raised.

“Yes! Those women who kiss a lot of boys,” Marilyn said with a frown before turning back to her doll, “And you are not one Lady Marks!”

Papa’s smile twitched at the name of her doll, “And what are you two ladies doing?”

She hadn’t even heard the door creak open. Marilyn gasped excitedly, and shot up to stand remaining in character, “It’s the king! Bow now!” 

Marilyn did her best to bow but let out a little whimper from the pain, “Vittoria, we talked about taking it easy with your back,” Papa said in a chastising tone.

Marilyn kept her position, it was painful but going back to her previous posture would be painful too. She kept whimpering, “Papa, help me.”

Only after hearing her pleas did Papa decide to gently push her back up, “Ow, ow, ow!”

The tiara pulled on her hair as it moved around, which led to Papa gently untangling it. “Ow,” she whined.

Ms. Sagesse rubbed small circles on her upper back, “Are you okay, sweetie?”

She sniffled and after deciding she wanted the attention from both of them, she put on a show, “That _really_ hurted,” she whined.

“You poor baby,” Ms. Sagesse cooed, “Sit back down.”

Papa’s expression went from a mildly concerned one to an amused one. His eyes met hers and said _I know what game you're playing._ Marilyn blushed as her teacher slowly guided her back into her chair. “Do you have room for one more?” Papa asked.

“Feeling left out?” her teacher teased with a smile.

Papa didn’t respond but his eyes showed a hint of jealousy that Marilyn didn’t notice while she threw herself into a fit of excitement. “Yes, yes, yes! Sit down Papa!” she shrieked in delight, “Move over Ms. Monroe! The King is here! Go!”

Her hands smacked the doll off the chair, a little too violently but no one was concerned. Marilyn poured tea like Ms. Sagesse had taught her to and showed off all her, as she called it, “lady skills.” Papa’s gaze was critical but it also held an amusement that she'd never seen before.

Papa smirked at her enjoying herself, but Sg.na Sagesse could tell there was something behind his eyes. “What is it?” she asked with a smirk, “Why are you smiling like that?”

Marilyn suddenly became interested in the adults. “Well, I was going to plan on announcing it at brunch with your family this Wednesday,” he said slowly.

“What is it, Daddy?” Marilyn asked excitedly, bouncing in her seat.

“No, I should wait,” he scoffed playfully.

“Tell me, Papa! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!” she badgered.

Papa’s eyes settled disapprovingly on her, “Are you ordering your king what to do?”

Marilyn pouted at his tone, “Sorry sir.”

He smiled at her apology, “Well I suppose I can tell you now if you _really_ want to know.”

Marilyn nodded her head furiously, not daring herself to speak less she make a mistake and get punished for it. “Please, don’t keep us waiting,” Ms. Sagesse gave an airy laugh before adding a, “Your Majesty.”

Papa looked happy. “I just got the President’s,” he said slowly before taking a pause to carefully choose the words he’d use in front of his daughter, “Christmas gift. I can officially, as of now, apply to become a citizen of the United States.”

Ms. Sagesse gasped, “Oh that’s terrific!”

Her smile was wide, but her happiness could not beat the father-daughter duo. Marilyn shrieked in girlish excitement, “I can’t wait, Papa!”

 _I have no idea what a citizen is, but that sounds wonderful!_ Despite the pain, she got up and threw her arms around her Papa’s neck in a hug, “We’re going home!”

“I can’t believe it!” Ms. Sagesse smiled, “That it happened so soon that is. Just a month after his inauguration too!”

“What’s an...inag…” she struggled with the word.

“It’s something similar to a coronation but for American presidents,” Ms. Sagesse explained. 

“Oh,” was all she could say.

Marilyn knew what a coronation was of course. _I know everything about royalty._ She kept imagining her own someday in the future. _I’ll have the fishwives, Sawyer, the little bitch, and Rat-faced Rodney thrown in the dungeon right after my big party_ . _It’ll be great_!

“How long until we can go back?” Marilyn asked, her soft green eyes bright and wide with excitement.

 _We’re finally going home._ “It’ll take a while of course to sort all of the documents out, however, I believe we can make a move in a year’s time,” he said, pulling Marilyn away from his neck to look at him.

“A year?” she whined dramatically, “That’s soooo looong!”

Papa chuckled, “Patience, my dear. I have it and so will you.”

He gently took a hold of her chin, “I can’t wait to show you everything, principessa. The house your Mama and I fell in love in, where we met...it’ll be wonderful.”

Tears beaded Marilyn’s eyes, “This is the best gift ever! She’d be so happy! I’m so happy!”

“It’ll be so poetic if we can be there a year from today,” he said with a smile that tried to hide a smugness.

“What’s so special about today?” Ms. Sagesse asked, her brows furrowed in confusion as she refreshed herself with a sip of tea.

Marilyn frowned and escaped her Papa’s grip, before turning around to face her teacher, “Today’s Mama’s birthday.”

The tears that were so warm and happy became cold with sadness as they spilled over. She had tried to ignore it the whole day. Mama never made a fuss over her birthday and Marilyn told herself this year that she’d stop trying to give her gifts given that they ended up thrown out. _I got my birthday, but she didn’t get hers._ Marilyn gasped, _what if I did this to her? Because I didn’t want to celebrate her birthday so God decided to not give her hers._

Marilyn buried her face into Papa’s chest and started to sob. “Shh principessa, it’s alright. I’m here,” he said, giving her a kiss on her head, “I think she’d be very happy with this gift. Don't you?”

Marilyn couldn’t verbally respond but nodded her head in agreement. _She should be here to see it, but she’s not...my bad thoughts caused her to die!_ “I think we have to cut your girl time short Signorina. I need to care for my daughter right now,” he said in his most fatherly tone.

“Of...of course Signore Borghese,” she said professionally, “Congratulations on the news. I look forward to celebrating with you two this Wednesday.”

Marilyn didn’t register her goodbye or notice that she slipped out. Papa gently and possessively cradled her, absorbing her tears into his suit. _He never complains about it like Mama did._ That thought caused her to wail even louder and it took even longer for her to calm down, even with the breathing exercises he had her do. She hadn’t felt this miserable since the math incident and spent the rest of the day in bed.

***

“I betrayed her today,” she whispered, her back elevated on her pillow, “On her birthday.”

“Vittoria, you don’t have it in you to betray anyone,” he soothed, brushing her curls away from her damp forehead, “Here, drink some water.”

She greedily drank the water when he put it to her lips. “I’m a bad daughter,” she said, letting tears slip from her eyes.

They were softer compared to the ones she shed earlier, full of an acceptance of loneliness instead of despair. “You’re a good daughter who had a mother who didn’t appreciate you. Not like I do,” he said, still keeping the glass to her lips.

 _My heart actually aches...what if I have a heart attack...what if..._ Marilyn gave up. She couldn't bring herself to her care. “It was hard to love me,” she said, feeling her nose tingling, “I was a burden. We weren’t rich like you.”

 _Maybe if I hadn’t asked for so much, kept giving her gifts, let her nap more, then maybe...maybe she would’ve liked me more. Like Sg.ra Giordano, Mrs. Marks, and Sg.na Sagesse do._ “Vittoria,” he said, sitting down, his weight depressing the side of her bed, “You are a blessing, not a burden.”

“If I had been better…” she whimpered, burying her face into her hands.

 _I must’ve been so naughty. She never played with me. She never wanted to talk with me. But I’m smart though. Why wouldn’t she want to?_ **Her frustration was boiling so high..**.

“The problem was never you. It was her,” he said tensely.

**And then it spilled over.**

“Then why did you leave me with her?!” she asked in frustration, “If she was so bad then why didn’t you take me?! You weren’t there! Why did you even love her?!”

“Do not raise your voice at me, Vittoria,” he warned.

“Marilyn! My name is Marilyn! Marilyn!” Marilyn screamed, “ _She_ named me because you weren’t there!”

_If he loved me so much, he would’ve been there! To name me, hold me, play with me!_

She began to sob, “I wanted you so much, Daddy! Didn’t you want me?”

She looked at Papa’s eyes and she couldn’t tell whether he wanted to lash out in anger or comfort her. Papa stood up, his height towering over her like a giant ready to squash a human. “ _I_ always wanted you, _Vittoria._ I wanted you and loved you since the moment I found out your mother was pregnant. I wanted to be there for every moment,” he said stiffly, “But life threw us hurdles and for that reason, I couldn’t reach you.”

“You couldn’t even send a letter?” her voice cracked.

She wouldn’t admit that there were days where she’d look in the mailbox, hoping to find a letter addressed to her from her Papa. No letter came.

“Vittoria,” he sighed a sigh that seemed a century old, “You are much too young to understand the reasons I couldn’t. But know that I have done everything in my power to get you, to fight for you when she never would have done the same. Now that I have you, I’ll never let you go.”

His words hurt her for reasons she didn’t want to admit. Marilyn was furiously wiping her eyes, “I hate that you’re nice to me.”

She couldn’t see her Papa frown, “Why? Would you prefer I wasn't? Because I can do that Vittoria.”

“No,” she sniffled, “But you make it too easy…”

“To do what?” he asked, frustrated with her half-answers.

“To love you more than her!” she confessed.

She never wanted to say it out loud and regretted it the moment the words left her lips. _On her birthday too._ But how could she lie to herself? When Papa gave her the affection she so desperately wanted all her life, that she _needed._ He didn’t forget her in grocery stores, forget her birthday, and as far as she knew, didn’t throw out her gifts. She’d been looking in the trash too. He’d never raised his voice or gave her a slap. When she came to him at night, he opened the door with a smile on his face. Papa said _Vittoria_ with pure adoration and something else she couldn’t quite place. Not like when Mama said _Marilyn,_ with resentment or even worse, apathy.

 _I could’ve been loved all this time_ . In the past months, she felt nothing but anger, frustration, fear, and despair but now all she was, was tired. Tired of fighting. Of defending a woman who couldn’t fully love her, if she did at all. _I always said I love you, but she never said it back._ “I’m so sorry I yelled at you Papa,” she said guiltily.

She waited to hear her punishment, but it never came. Because finally after five months, Papa got what he finally wanted and had her where he wanted her. Papa sat back down, “What’s your name?” he asked, “Your real name.”

Vittoria looked up at him with red watery eyes. _I know what he wants._ She responded softly but with no uncertainty, “Vittoria Maria Charlotte Antonina Borghese.”

 _The name he says with love_. “Who loves you? The only person in the world who does,” he asked again.

“You, Papa,” Vittoria said, and obediently finished it with an actual sentence, “You’re the only person in the world who loves me.”

 _It’s true. No one else loves me._ Papa wiped her tears and smiled at her, “That’s right Vittoria. I love you so much. You’re everything I ever wanted and we’re going to have our happy ending like we deserve, but you have to let go of everyone else. Of her,” he said softly, “Your grief is draining the life out of you. It’s casting a dark storm over a new bright life. It has to end now. Can you do that? Can you let go?”

 _No. I don't know...not yet. But that’s not what he needs to hear._ “Yes,” Vittoria whispered, “I can let go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She finally broke 😢 Poor kid. Even when she gets a new friend, Leo has to convince her there's no one else but him. 
> 
> Also, I might be taking a semi-hiatus soon. Work's been killing me and I'm struggling to get back into that routine.


	22. Brunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vittoria attends brunch with the Bianchi's but then finds out some news that sours her mood.

A meltdown was not in the plan for how the Borghese’s thought they’d spend their morning.

“Vittoria, stop being so dramatic and put your coat back on,” Papa said firmly.

“I’m wearing the skin of the dead!” she dramatically wailed, leaning against the couch in despair while pressing the back of her hand to her forehead.

She had just found out that her mink fur coat was made out of mink, which was a cute fluffy animal! _That they had to kill to make the coat_! It was safe to say, she wasn’t taking that information very well. “And I’m wearing thin on patience, Vittoria,” he said slowly, “Stop being dramatic and put on your coat. It’s time to go.”

“They’re dead Papa,” she cried.

“And there’s nothing you can do about it now. It’s cold, put on the coat,” he said for the final time.

Vittoria continued to sob in grief. Finally, Papa had lost the remnants of his patience and ripped her off the couch, and wrestled her into the coat. “Noooo!” she shrieked.

 _They were killed to make me warm!_ “Vittoria Maria Charlotte Antonina Borghese,” he said with her full name.

 _That means I’m in big trouble._ “You have ten seconds to collect yourself and after that, for every tear I see, I’ll give you a spanking for,” he warned, “Ten...nine...eight…”

Vittoria quickly tried to calm herself, but the pressure to do so was too much which caused her to cry even more. “Six...five...four,” he counted.

 _Come on, put on your happy mask!_ Vittoria used the breathing techniques Papa taught her, but as hard as she tried she couldn’t calm down. Her guilt and nervousness were consuming her. “Three...two...one,” he finished counting before he started again, though this time the numbers had a different meaning, “One...two...three...four.”

“No, no, no!” she cried, making the situation worse for herself.

Papa said nothing to comfort her. He just kept counting, “Eight, nine, ten, eleven…”

She didn’t know how long it took her to make her tears stopped, but as far as she knew, her ass was grass. _That’s what Mama used to say_. He finished counting with the number thirty-seven. Vittoria was whimpering, but that didn’t seem to bother him as he ignored that while he carried her into the kitchen and set her on the counter. Her eyes traveled as she watched him pour her a drink of water and wet a washcloth and bring it over to her, “Take a few sips first,” he said without warmth.

Vittoria obeyed immediately as she took the heavy glass and held it shakily as she put it to her lips and drank it greedily. When she put it down, Papa began to wipe her face with the wet washcloth, “Your eyes will still be swollen and red when we see the Bianchis,” he said disapprovingly, “People don’t like seeing children cry, Vittoria. It’s upsetting.”

“I’m sorry Papa,” she pouted, “But the minks…”

Her heart ached at the thought of God knowing how many little creatures were killed to keep her warm. _I’ll pray for them tonight. Every night. I wonder if our priest will let me light a candle for them._ If it weren't for the phantom pain in her bottom reminding her of what was to come, she’d cry.

“It’s no different than eating meat with our meals,” he said, finishing wiping her face with the wet rag and began drying it with a dry one, “You have to live with it.”

Her lip wobbled. _Stay strong._ “Will you spank me now?” she asked weakly.

“No. There’s no time, but I will when we return home,” he said as he discarded the rag.

 _I have to live with knowing my punishment and pain for the entire day!_ Nausea and nervousness settled in her stomach. _I can’t even cry._ “When we get in the car, you’ll take a nap to reduce the swelling,” he said with an “ _I'll hear no arguments”_ tone.

With that, he picked her up off of the counter and set her on the floor, her mary janes making a clicking sound on the tiles. Papa reached for her hand and she obediently slipped hers into his, allowing him to pull her out the front door.

***

Vittoria had been to the Bianchi’s several times after the Christmas Eve party, however she never stopped being awe-struck by the grandness of their home. Signora always tried to make her feel welcome, but she could never stop feeling out of place. Before they could even knock on the door, Mr. and Mrs. Bianchi already popped out to greet them. The speed of their Italian made it impossible for her to follow, but she said a polite hello and was greeted warmly. The older woman looked at her eyes, which unfortunately were still puffy but less red, and inquired to Papa as to why. Whatever his answer was, Vittoria was pulled inside and ushered into the kitchen. 

She had no idea why the woman thought food solved everything, but she wouldn’t complain. Until she met Papa, Vittoria had never had a meal that hadn’t come in a packaged box or couldn’t be made under thirty-minutes. Unless you counted the gelatinous monstrosity her Mama cooked up, which she thought was the height of the culinary arts. _Meat shouldn’t be in jello._ When she had told Papa, he looked like he would pass out. 

Vittoria would gladly, _well not gladly_ , but she’d eat it every day for the rest of her life if it meant bringing Mama back. Since the night she confessed her feelings about her Mama, she had felt guilty and dirty as sin. It was her lowest moment and she’d regret it forever. _I have to confess to it next Sunday._ Vittoria prayed every night to God and then to her Mama, apologizing and asking for her forgiveness. In fact, she found herself praying to Mama more than God, which she’d never confess to anyone, even a priest.

Mrs. Bianchi spoke to her, not really with her, but she spoke to her in slow Italian. Not slow enough for Vittoria to feel like she was being treated as if she were stupid, but slow enough for her to find words she recognized. _Poor girl...devil...boys...snack..._ Vittoria wasn’t quite sure what all of those words had to do with each other, and luckily she didn’t have to make the connection because an airy feminine voice translated for her, “She says, boys are full of the devil. Shame on him for making you cry, you poor girl,” came from Ms. Sagesse, “Have a snack and you can complain all you want.”

Vittoria turned around and a grin spread across her face. “Ms. Sagesse!” she shrieked in delight.

The poor woman’s body faltered in her place as the young girl barrelled into her, wrapping her arms firmly and tightly around her cinched waist. _She smells like cinnamon._ “Hello sweetie,” she laughed, wrapping her arms around Vittoria.

Vittoria pressed her face into her tummy, snuggling close to her with affection. It was such a touching sight, to see the child who recoiled from a person’s touch (with the exception of her father’s) only a few months ago. When Vittoria pulled away, she looked up at the warm eyes and smile that brought her so much comfort. Ms. Sagesse wore her black hair down that gracefully settled on her waist. _She’s like Aurora but not blonde!_

“We’re matching!” Vittoria exclaimed, noticing that the woman was also wearing a light blue dress.

“Look at that, we are!” she grinned, trying to match the child’s enthusiasm.

Ms. Sagesse spoke some Italian and greeted her aunt warmly before coaxing Vittoria to sit down and have some girl time while the food finished cooking. The adults poured themselves their adult juice that Mama and Papa loved so much, and Vittoria got a special treat: apple juice. Papa wouldn’t let her have juice at home, except orange juice. _Yuck!_ She made sure to complain about that little fact to Ms. Sagesse. She was left wondering whether the woman forgot what Papa said or ignored it to treat her. _I won’t complain though._

The juice was poured into a wine glass so she could “feel fancy” talking with the grown-ups. Vittoria recounted her horrifying experience with Emilio to the older woman with Ms. Sagesse acting as their translator. “My aunt says little girls have no place playing with big boys. That you’re like a little glass doll and they’re bulls in a China shop,” Ms. Sagesse said slowly.

“He was such a meanie!” she exclaimed and took a sip of her juice, “He...he...boys are just stinky!”

Vittoria wasn’t quite happy with that last adjective, but she figured the two women wouldn’t appreciate the first word that came to her mind. The older woman talked and Ms. Sagesse listened before retelling it to Vittoria, “American boys are rude and don’t respect anyone. They’re nothing like the sweet American girls,” she smiled and pinched her cheeks.

Sg.ra Bianchi wore a warm expression as Ms. Sagesse finished the last part, complimenting both her niece and Vittoria. _It’s very true,_ she thought smugly, _Ms. Sagesse is American too._ “Grazie,” she said politely.

The woman said something else and Vittoria knew it was juicy gossip when Ms. Sagesse responded with, “No, non sto dicendo questo!”

“What’d she say?” Vittoria asked excitedly.

“No, I’m not repeating it,” her teacher said firmly.

Vittoria pouted and folded her arms, but after a moment decided she wanted to continue her story. “Well, then he...he kissed my hand!” she held out which hand it was, “It was super gross and slimy! He’s a pervert!”

Ms. Sagesse looked shocked at the big word she used and raised her eyebrows, “Do you know what a pervert is?”

“Mama says it’s boys who don’t leave girls alone,” she explained before her tone turned fiery, “And that we should shoot em dead!”

“Vittoria!” she gasped.

“And that it’s my right to do it too!” she said defensively and with conviction.

One way she knew her Mama cared a little bit about her was how worried she was about Marilyn being snatched by a sexual predator. She remembered when she shot a gun for the first time, and Mama told her to always go for the head, because “The only thing a predator should taste is lead.”

Her other piece of advice was, “Adults shouldn’t have secrets with children. Always tell Mama what they say.”

 _And I did_. For being so small, the woman could be quite scary. Mr. Jackson was their neighbor who was a nice enough man and was always polite, but he always looked at her funny and tried to hug her. One time he tried to get her to play in his house and when Marilyn said no, he told her with a smile, “It’ll be our little secret.”

Marilyn ran home and told her Mama. _And well, Mama didn’t like that very much_. They had a crow problem in their neighborhood and the next day when Mr. Jackson was outside, Mama took her gun and scared the living daylights out of him by shooting it dead off of his car and said with fiery eyes, “You’ve got to clear those predators out.”

Marilyn didn’t know why crows were predators and she never found out, because, like Mr. Jackson, they moved away. Mama got fined, let off with a warning, and the fishwives were left with gossip material, but at least grown men stopped talking to them. Mama may have said it wasn’t worth fighting back, but there was still some fire in her when it came to protecting her daughter from the perverts in the world.

Ms. Sagesse was about to retort, but Vittoria interrupted with, “ _You_ said I should cut his lips off!”

If Ms. Sagesse was going to act so scandalized, then she’d throw it back in her face with what she told her. “Vittoria, you can’t just go around shooting and cutting people,” she chastised.

It wouldn’t be until years later that Vittoria would understand the irony and hypocrisy of those words coming from Ms. Sagesse. Sg.ra Bianchi asked what they were talking about as Vittoria nursed her apple juice, swirling it around like she saw her Papa do, and watched as Ms. Sagesse reluctantly told her aunt. Whatever Mrs. Bianchi’s opinion on the matter was, it was clearly in her favor as she defensively spoke towards her niece who argued back. Vittoria was transfixed on the whole matter as she watched the woman expressively use their hands and raise their volume. Sg.ra Bianchi looked over at her seriously and grabbed her hand and warmed it with hers. Seriousness filled her dark eyes and in English said, “Show no mercy.”

“No!” Ms. Sagesse exclaimed in reprimand, “Zia! È un pessimo consiglio!”

Well, her tone and words were very much not appreciated. Even she knew she had to respect her elders and Vittoria awkwardly watched Sg.ra Bianchi put her niece in her place. _She’s in troooooouble..._ In the middle of their argument, Papa came in and with a smile asked, “Che state facendo, signore?”

The change in expressions and atmosphere nearly gave Vittoria whiplash as all the women put on their sweet and accommodating smiles. “Just talking about girl things,” Ms. Sagesse said sweetly, “You know, dresses...cooking…”

Almost on cue of her teacher’s last word, Sg.ra Bianchi announced it was time for brunch. Vittoria and Sg.na Sagesse helped her bring it out to the table where it was already filled with a small buffet of appetizers because you didn’t invite a person over without food already out on the table! The men had clearly been snacking and looking at what was on the table, Vittoria was grateful for the glass of apple juice and sandwich she was given. _I basically had a full meal._ Knowing she had an Olympic task of eating ahead of her, she took a deep breath and put on a smile. _Showtime._

***

Vittoria Borghese had never really felt “betrayed” before, or at least she knew now she hadn’t, because the feeling of betrayal was entirely new to her. Brunch with the Bianchi’s had started out pleasantly enough. Vittoria was incredibly excited to hear that she had been excused from _all_ of her lessons that day (not just Mr. Lurch’s) and would instead spend the day with her Papa, Ms. Sagesse, and the Bianchi’s. _It helps that they’re rich and let me play with toys._ But then, as they finished eating she was told she’d be spending the rest of the day with the Bianchi’s, but _not_ with her Papa and Sg.na Sagesse. _They had to go to Rome or someplace, and had decided to totally abandon me_! 

Her composure was waning as she felt her heart shatter like they were fragile pieces of porcelain glass. _He broke my heart._ Vittoria knew she wasn't supposed to cry in public, but that didn’t stop the hurt from showing all over her face and stop the tears from brimming in her eyes. “Vittoria, I’ll be back the same time tomorrow,” Papa cooed as he knelt down to her level, taking her chin into his large hands so she could face him.

“I...I,” she stuttered in embarrassment, “You said you would never leave me. You promised.”

Papa used his thumb to wipe away the tears crawling down her face, “I’m not leaving you principessa.”

“You said _I_ was your girl,” she said bitterly, giving Ms. Sagesse a nasty side-eye before turning her focus back to her Papa.

Papa chuckled, before changing his voice to something dreamy and romantic, “You are. My heart, the air in my lungs, my everything. But I have things I need to take care of with Sg.na Sagesse and it’s best I leave you here with the Bianchi’s.”

“Why can’t I go with you? I’ll be good!” she pleaded hopelessly, “Haven’t I shown I can be good?”

Her heart ached. She knew she had been naughty that morning, but she was mostly on her best behavior. _I’ve been trying. I’ve really been trying. Isn’t anything I do good enough?_ Papa gave her a soft smile, “You have been very good. But this is something just us adults have to do and if all goes well, it could be very good for you too!”

“Is this because I was naughty this morning?” she whispered, her eyes looking away in shame.

“No dolcezza, this trip was already planned,” he explained as he guided her attention back to him.

 _Then why wouldn’t he tell me?_ She knew Papa was being patient with her. That he didn’t _have_ to explain himself with a smile, but he chose to do it anyway because Papa was sweet like that sometimes. _Papa gives an order and I follow it, without question or complaint_. But this, this was entirely new and scary! Not once since she had been in Italy had she been without him.

Papa worked from home and on the occasion, he had to go out, he did it during school hours when she was with one of her tutors. And here he was now, telling her he was leaving her for a whole 24 hours. Vittoria remembered the last time she had been left alone, lost without her Mama, and suddenly, more tears leaked out and heavy sobs left her chest. Vittoria flung her arms around her Papa’s neck and clasped them as tightly as she could, refusing to let them go or loosen them in any way. Papa wrapped his arms around her and cooed soft words in her ear, “Vittoria, it won’t be so bad. You love the Bianchi’s.”

 _Love is a strong word. I barely know them. I love_ **you**. “Don’t leave me like she did,” she cried, not needing to clarify.

Yes, they had an audience but their audience didn’t speak nor understand English (with the exception of Ms. Sagesse) so she was free to say what she wanted to. The Bianchi’s and Ms. Sagesse looked on with sympathy but also found it so endearing that Leonardo Borghese was such a wonderful father that his daughter was hysterical over the thought of being without him. “I won’t principessa,” he whispered, holding her tighter, “But I must go now.”

Vittoria shut her eyes and shook her head furiously into his neck, “I’ll do anything. Please stay!”

 _I’ll even be nice to Sawyer!_ Her heart was pounding, her legs were turning to jelly, and she was sure the world around her was blurring so she could only focus on her Papa. _This can’t be happening. How can he leave me with people who don’t even understand what I’m saying?_ Papa pet her hair and rubbed circles on her back, trying to calm her with ways that have worked in the past. “Breathe in, and count with me,” he said.

He wasn’t giving her an option whether or not to breathe like he wasn’t giving her the option to stay with him. _I’d rather hold my breath forever than watch him go!_ It took some coaxing, but she finally managed to breathe evenly. Papa pulled her away from his neck and looked at her with his dazzling blue eyes, and smiled at her. He looked completely satisfied and she had no idea why!

“Principessa, you love me, yes?” he asked with a smile.

Vittoria frowned, “Of course! I love you more than anything!”

 _Is that why he’s leaving? Because he thinks I don’t love him?_ “Then be a good girl for me, like you always are. Make me proud,” he finished.

Vittoria sniffled but nodded obediently, because _what else can I do but say yes?_ “I’ll bring you something back and I’ll make it all up to you when I take you home,” he said pleasantly.

 _After you punish me,_ she thought sadly. Her bottom started hurting at the thought of her thirty-seven smack punishment coming later. _Great, I’ll have to suffer even longer. The present better be amazing._ Ms. Sagesse smiled at her, “I’ll make sure he remembers.”

Vittoria looked at her with a blank expression, but she was scowling on the inside. _You’re trying to take my Papa away from me._ Papa refocused her attention on him, “I will see you in twenty-four hours.”

Vittoria’s lower lip wobbled and she once again threw her arms around him, hooking them tightly behind his neck. “I’ll miss you, Papa...I love you,” she said with a watery voice.

Papa took the chance to grip her tightly and hoist her up, settling her on his hip, “I love you too principessa,” he whispered in her ear, “Be good.”

Papa gave her a kiss on the cheek and handed her over to Sg.ra Bianchi. Vittoria Borghese was an eight-year-old girl, thank you very much, so she really felt it was unnecessary for him to pass her over to Sg.ra Bianchi like she was a baby, but then considered he probably knew she had been planning to run after him. Sg.ra Bianchi smiled at her, and even though the woman was well into her late fifties, she still held Vittoria as easily as one would hold a newborn babe. Sig. Bianchi said something in Italian to Papa and Papa responded fluently before he gave her a smile and another farewell. Ms. Sagesse told her not to worry and that she’d keep her Papa safe for her before she gave her a kiss on her cheek _as if she were my mother_.

Vittoria waved sadly as she watched her Papa leave with her replacement, _the other woman_. Papa’s big figure remained in her sight before he disappeared around the corner, and with a loud _click_ and latch, he was gone. He didn’t even make it to his car before she started sobbing again. She cried the moment he had left, leaving an empty place in her heart, and cried for disappointing him. Vittoria knew she was already breaking his “be good” rule by sobbing, but Sg.ra Bianchi didn’t seem to mind.

Sg.ra Bianchi rubbed her back, like Papa. _No! No one but Papa!_ Vittoria squirmed but Sg.ra Bianchi held her tight. “Shh mia cara ragazza,” she shushed as she readjusted Vittoria into a more comfortable position.

With a shaky breath and wet eyes, Vittoria whimpered, “Tuo papà riuscirà.”

 _I want Papa._ That was one of the first phrases she’d ever learned, though she wished she wouldn’t have had to use it. Sg.ra Bianchi wiped the tears from Vittoria’s porcelain cheeks and looked at her with soft brown eyes, “Tornerà. Fino ad allora, ti prometto che ci divertirmo.”

Vittoria recognized the word divertirmo, and stilled a little. Vittoria pouted, “How?”

The woman smiled and brushed the loose curls out of Vittoria’s face with her warm hand. _This woman was meant to be a mother._ “I show you, hm?”

Sg.ra Bianchi allowed Vittoria to slip out of her arms and lure her into the kitchen. Again. _I don’t like cooking._ It wasn’t an activity she particularly enjoyed and only did it because Papa made her and he liked her company. Vittoria smiled a bit. _Mama wasn’t good at cooking._ For once, the thought of Mama didn’t bring tears into her eyes yet there was still that yearning ache in her chest.

Sg.ra Bianchi put Vittoria to work right away, making her help her bake some pastries. _We just ate!_ Admittedly, they looked very good and smelt even better and Sg.ra Bianchi let her do something Papa never let her do, lick the batter. Vittoria asked in every way she knew how, but the man wouldn’t compromise. Then again, neither would she. Even when he went into detail about what would happen if she got sick from it, she was still adamant about doing it.

Sg.ra Bianchi was a woman who could talk a lot and not particularly mind if she was the only one speaking. For her, the silence seemed to be unnatural and unwelcome. Sg.ra Giordano was content with quiet like Vittoria was however she didn’t mind Sg.ra Bianchi. The Bianchi’s presence was growing in Vittoria’s life and there was scarcely a week where she, Papa, and Sg.na Sagesse didn’t see them at least once. “Vittoria,” the woman spoke loudly, but not unkindly, “Mi segua.”

Sg.ra Bianchi held out her flour painted hand for her to take. Without protest, Vittoria slipped her hand into hers yet still asked, “Perché?”

The woman gave her an answer, but Vittoria didn’t understand any of it. Instead, she just pretended she did and nodded her head, “Ohhh! Okay!”

Sg.ra Bianchi looked pleased with her response and led her to the upstairs in the mansion. Vittoria was never allowed to walk up or down big staircases without an adult holding her hand. _I can do it by myself._ Her little heels clicked on the marble staircases, and her hands glided along the rails. The mansion was as beautiful as it was that Christmas Eve.

Vittoria loved the balcony overlooking the foyer. It made her feel like a princess about to be presented to a royal court. Vittoria was led to her “princess quarters”, which was the same room she stayed in when she got sick at the party. Now that the lights were on and she was in a better frame of health and mind, she was able to properly look at it. Like everything in the house, it was lit in gold.

The walls were white and trimmed with gold, as was the bed set. _They really like gold_. The golden trim looked like, in Vittoria’s most accurate words, _royal swirls_. Her few seconds of observation were interrupted when she saw a circular gift box on her bed. Vittoria smiled and looked at the older woman while pointing to the white box that was wrapped with, of course, a gold bow. “For me?”

“For you,” the woman said in English with a smile.

In her own excitement, Vittoria began to go over but was distinctly aware that Sg.ra Bianchi was still holding her hand because she was pulled back. The woman spoke in rapid Italian and gestured to Vittoria’s shoes. _Does she want me to take them off_? Vittoria began to slowly unbuckle them while looking up uncertainly at the woman, waiting for her confirmation that she had understood her command correctly. When they were completely pulled off of her feet, Sg.ra Bianchi gave them a home in the closet.

Admittedly, the closet wasn’t as impressive in comparison to what she’d seen so far. _My closet at home is a lot bigger. It probably wouldn’t be nice to say that though._ The woman pointed to the closet, said something, laughed fondly, and then pinched Vittoria’s cheek. _I have no idea what just happened._

It didn’t matter though, because now she could focus on the present sitting on the white bedspread. The woman sat down with the eager eight-year-old who delicately untied the ribbon. _I remember when I opened a round present and inside was Principessa Snowbell._ Vittoria gasped, _she’s at home all alone!_ Her hands left the ribbon and she looked up at the older woman worriedly, and with the voice of a frantic mother who couldn't find her child, said “Principessa Snowbell is at,” she struggled to find the right words, “Casa. Mia gatta is at mia casa.”

She knew it was probably grammatically incorrect, but she hoped it was at least understandable. The woman gave a light laugh and gently rubbed her hand before speaking rapidly; the only words she could make out being _Papa, casa,_ and _gatta. Did Papa get her a cat-sitter too? Is there someone taking care of my baby_? Vittoria didn’t want to doubt her Papa, but there were times where she got a distinct feeling that he didn’t like Principessa Snowbell all that much and he would’ve been okay if she had died that night.

“I need to know if she’s okay,” Vittoria said slowly but the woman just gestured for her to finish opening her present as if that were more important. 

She held in a huff because she didn’t want to seem ungrateful, though she was put out that no one seemed to care. _Okay, she was in the house the last time you left. It’s not like she’s outside! There was also food in the bowl and water. It’s twenty-four hours...she’ll be okay._ Vittoria barely convinced herself but it was enough to get her through the task of opening the present.

As the bow slipped off the box with a quiet whisper, and the lid found itself discarded onto the comforter, Vittoria was able to get a glimpse of what it was underneath the crinkle of tissue paper. _Gifts just like Papa’s._ It was another dress, and big surprise, it was a white lacy one with gold trim on the sleeves, collar, waist, and bottom of the dress. _At least I’ll match the house._

Still, Vittoria put on a show and did a little gasp, gave a wide smile, and a flurry of “thank you’s” to the woman while burying her face into her chest and wrapping her arms around her. The woman reveled in her reaction and Vittoria was pleased that she was a good enough actress to convince her she was genuinely excited. _It’s hard to be excited when this dress is like all of the other dresses I wear._ The woman gently pried Vittoria off and rustled through the wrapping paper, because apparently there was more!

A delicate pair of white child-sized gloves sat underneath the dress. The woman slipped them into Vittoria’s hands, “From Alessia.”

Vittoria was confused because there had never been a time where she expressed she wanted gloves. And she was quite sure because she expressed what she wanted for presents a lot. “Why?”

The woman grinned, “Faremo un...tea party!”

Vittoria tilted her head in confusion, but she was quickly ignored and given the command to redress in her outfit. _What I’m wearing is fine. Papa wouldn’t let me leave the house if it weren’t._ Like a good girl, however, she obeyed. Vittoria was thankfully given the courtesy of dressing by herself for once, which was admittedly a lot quicker than when Papa did it for her.

She quickly dropped the fur coat, looking at it sadly. _Poor little babies._ While she felt guilty for her tantrum earlier, she had no guilt whatsoever for her mournful tears for the minks. _They must have been so scared._ It was too painful to look at it, so she placed it in the closet delicately, _you have to respect the dead_ , and shut it tightly. _Out of sight, out of mind..._ After her moment of wallowing, she returned to the task at hand.

When she had slipped on the gloves, she opened the door a crack to where Sg.ra Bianchi was waiting for her expectantly. With a genuine gasp and smile, she paid her a rapid series of compliments. The only words Vittoria could understand were _pictures, beautiful girl, bride,_ and _Alessia._ Her hair must’ve been suitable for now because Sg.ra Bianchi made no effort to change it. While their tea party snacks were finishing up, Sg.ra Bianchi made Vittoria stand in the gardens and pose for pictures. 

Their garden was _very_ different from the ones Vittoria had seen in the States. For one, theirs had a cobblestone pathway, large hedges, majestic fountains with naked statues at their center, and then more statues. Some naked and some weren’t. _No one would like that on Sycamore Drive._ If Vittoria had to describe “rich” and “not rich”, the Bianchi’s would certainly be described as rich. Though to Vittoria’s true shock, there was hardly any gold. 

After what seemed like forever (twenty-minutes), she was allowed to drop her painful smile and help prepare the outdoor dining area, separate from the gardens, for their tea party. It was a very proper affair, but ultimately stressful as this was where Sg.ra Bianchi wanted to see everything she had been taught by her niece. Vittoria thought she did good, all things considered, and was giving the performance of a lifetime trying to pretend she enjoyed tea. It tasted like watery dirty leaves, even with the milk, sugar, and cream added. 

It was a very nice day. The sun gently kissed her face while a gentle breeze kept her from getting too hot. Birds were chirping and with the setting, it was almost like a fairy tale. _Papa’s not here though_. “Your Mama has green eyes, si?”

Vittoria looked up at the woman in shock. This was perhaps the first time the woman spoke in English with confidence and with near fluency. “Yes Signora,” she confirmed, not quite sure if she should continue.

“Come si chiama?” she asked, looking at the girl over the rim of the teacup that was pressed to her lips.

“Patience,” Vittoria said quietly, “Her name’s Patience. Papa called her Pazienza.”

The teacup clinked on the saucer and the woman smiled. “Pazienza,” she said, testing the name on her lips, “Che bel nome. Era carina, si?”

“Si,” Vittoria said shortly.

Vittoria was growing uncomfortable. Even though she ached to talk about and remember Mama, she didn’t like doing it in front of strangers. Papa didn’t like it either. He told her to give simple answers and avoid the topic altogether. If Vittoria had been older, she would’ve asked why but for now she was okay with avoiding those conversations. “Tale madre, tale figlia,” she mused, “You’re American, si?”

Vittoria furrowed her brow, “I was. I moved here when Mama died.”

The woman frowned and her voice became syrupy, “Poverina. Incidente d’auto, si?”

Vittoria recognized the words from what Papa had her rehearse, “Si,” and she finished it with what he taught her, “Fa male a ricordare. Per favore non farmi parlare di esso.”

The words came too naturally and Vittoria was sure, by Sg.ra Bianchi’s expression, that she knew it was fed to her and rehearsed. “Didn’t know Sig. Borghese had wife in America,” she said again, though her tone wasn’t as motherly anymore.

 _There it is. It’s the same tone the fishwives used when talking about how Mama was unmarried...but she was. They had a wedding. Why didn’t she-,_ “O una figlia,” the woman said with a smile, but her eyes had something different in them.

 _I didn’t know I had a Papa_. Vittoria thought it best to keep that to herself though. Vittoria pretended she didn’t understand what the woman was saying. “È fortunato ad averti, Vittoria. Spero che Alessia abbia una figlia come te,” she hummed.

 _He’s lucky to have you, Vittoria. I hope...Alessia...a daughter...you_ . “Grazie,” Vittoria said politely as she bit into a crunchy pastry with a creamy center. _This is really good._ The woman continued, “Sarà una buona mamma per te.”

 _She'll be a good mother for you…_ “What do you mean by that?”

The woman’s eyes widened a bit and her face gave away that she revealed something she wasn’t supposed to, and quickly covered up with, “Different in Italian. Tu non la capiresti.”

Vittoria frowned but put it in the back of her mind. It wasn’t the first time she misunderstood what someone was saying and it wouldn’t be the last. Signora Bianchi looked thoughtful as she tried to find the right words to describe what she meant. “You need mother...figura...figura materna,” she clarified.

“I have a mother,” Vittoria responded quickly.

 _She’s dead, but I have a Mama already. And Sg.na Sagesse said she wouldn’t try to be my mother, just my friend._ Mrs. Bianchi must’ve seen her tense posture, because she dropped the subject rather quickly though she had a look to her that told Vittoria she was trying to keep her opinions to herself. _Better than the fishwives._ “Allora, com'è la scuola?” the woman asked, taking another sip of her tea.

Vittoria shrugged. _If I say it’s bad, then Papa will be mad because I embarrassed him. But if I say it’s good then I’m lying._ Vittoria thought it over. _Lying is safer._ “La scuola va bene. Lo preferisco to scuola in America,” she said, “Lo preferisco Sg.na Sagesse. È simpatica.” 

“Bene. Sei una ragazza intelligente. La scuola dev'essere facile per te,” she hummed with a smile.

Those kind eyes were back with a genuine warmth that made her feel cozy. Vittoria was unsure if it was an Italian thing to change moods so quickly. Papa could go from warm to cold. Scary to loving. Sg.ra Bianchi was the same way. “Grazie,” Vittoria said graciously as she understood the word intelligente. 

Talking with adults was always awkward. Their conversations were short and choppy, with a lot of silence in between. So Vittoria took it upon herself to fill up with sweets, which pleased Sg.ra Bianchi who spoke a lot while she ate. She was a rather small child, even the doctors who examined her before she came to Italy said so. It’s just when you have the same meal every day for lunch and dinner, you tend to get sick of it, and not eating was preferential some days. Papa now forced her to take vitamins that tasted like chalk, _don’t ask how I know_ , and were super big. It was a lengthy process of her putting into her mouth and then finally having the courage to swallow. 

The pair sipped their tea, snacked, and enjoyed the sun. It was just them for a while until Sig. Bianchi came by, smiling at “his girls”. He gave his wife a kiss on her cheek and gave one to Vittoria, much to her dismay. Sg.ra Bianchi gestured to him and then the table, most likely inviting him to join. _Fantastic…_ The man looked like he refused, however, he quickly changed his mind when his wife threw an angry string of Italian towards him. He finally sat down and Vittoria had to say she loved the power the wives had over their husbands, and mothers and nonnas over their sons and grandsons. _I can’t wait to boss my own husband around_ , she thought cheerily. 

He sat down next to Vittoria and scooched his chair in, but Vittoria pointed to his napkin, “That has to go in your lap!”

She proceeded to show him what she meant, and her actions caused both of the adults to smile and laugh. Sig. Bianchi smiled and spoke fast, where Vittoria could only catch the name Alessia. “Cosa c'è di buono da mangiare?” he asked her.

The man smoothed back his graying hair. In fact, there was very little black left to it as opposed to his wife’s who only had a few streaks of silver. Vittoria made him a little plate with everything she thought he’d like, because well, she liked it so he must too. He patted her on the head once she served him a plate, “Sarai una brava moglie e madre.”

 _A good...and...mother_ was all she could understand but from his tone, she assumed he was paying her a compliment. “Grazie Sig. Bianchi,” she said formally.

The adults talked to each other and left Vittoria out for quite a bit. She didn’t mind too much, because now she didn’t have to struggle to find the words for a conversation. Instead, she just got to watch, and she found them interesting. They looked at each other warmly, but she noticed Sg.ra Bianchi would pester or annoy Sig. Bianchi. Vittoria remembered the Marks and thought of how they always looked so in love, and how Mrs. Marks always appeared so obedient towards her husband. Sg.ra Bianchi looked like she stood her ground, which made Sig. Bianchi unhappy but he tolerated it.

Vittoria had never really had the chance to see a husband and wife interact in real life before. Every movie she watched ended with the wedding and the “they lived happily ever after” but she always wondered about the ever after and what it looked like. _What was Mama and Papa’s marriage like? They really loved each other and their wedding was special, but…_ It occurred to her just then that all she knew about her parent’s story was only to the point of “they lived happily ever after.” _Clearly, they didn't. I’ll have to ask Papa what it was like_.

Tea finally ended and she was told she had to take a nap, not that she wanted to. Usually, she was tired by now, but not today. Still, her opinion wasn’t considered and she was once again led upstairs to take a nap. Sg.ra Bianchi sang her a lullaby and rubbed her back like Mrs. Marks tried to do. _I can’t tell her no though, because that’s rude and then I’ll get in trouble with Papa._ There were too many thoughts racing in her mind: Principessa Snowbell, the fact that Papa had left her, that Sg.ra Bianchi changed her warmth so quickly, her upcoming punishment, and the fact that she’d told her Sg.na Sagesse would make a good role model/mother for her.

Whatever she meant by that, it didn’t sit well with her. Sg.na Sagesse had been spending A LOT of time with them lately and even went shopping with them, but Vittoria had chalked that up to an Italian thing. But...none of her teachers back home went shopping with Mama and her other Italian teachers _certainly_ didn’t spend personal time with them. She was thankful for that because she didn’t know if she could stomach Sig. Lurch more than she already had to.

_Ms. Sagesse said she wouldn’t replace Mama…but she didn’t say she_ ** _wouldn’t_** _replace me._ Vittoria frowned, _Papa wouldn’t love another woman. He has me and I’m enough. Plus, he already found true love with Mama...but there was no happily ever after. Mommy’s dead._ Her eyes started to water and her nose started to tingle. _I want Papa._

 _What if he gets in a car accident? Or what if he has a heart attack? Or falls? What if he does what Mama did?_ Quiet sobs escaped her chest. The room was dark and spacious, with not a lot of furniture outside of the necessities. It felt lonely. _I want to go home and sleep in my own bed and have Papa tuck me in._

 _Why did he leave? Why couldn’t he bring me with him? Am I that annoying?_ The thought of being annoying raised the volumes of her sobs. The bed was big, which made her very aware that she was alone and there was no one next to her. She only liked big beds when it was Papa’s because he always let her share his. _I have to knock first though._

Even when they weren’t together in the house, he was still there. Papa was always there to dress her, bathe her, tuck her in, give her kisses, and give her everything that a Papa gives his daughter. She missed his cologne that smelled so sweet and happy. It hurt that he left because _I’ve been a very good girl, haven’t I?_ It felt like a punishment even though she firmly believed she had done everything in her power to avoid it. 

Papa wasn’t there to hug her to keep her warm in a cold room or take up space in the bed to distract her from how lonely it was without another person. Papa wasn’t there. _He’s not here._ Vittoria’s sobs continued before she realized, _if I’m sad then he’s sad. I’m making him sad_. _And when I do that, I get in trouble_. As well as an eight-year-old girl could do, Vittoria did her best to push her sadness away and tie it down tight. She could actually feel it in her chest, heavy and anchor-like.

 _Happy thoughts. Mama and Papa together._ Vittoria tried to relive the story he told her of how they'd met and what their wedding was like. _Keep thinking. Leonello. Dolcezza._ A soft smile crossed her face as she imagined their first dance together. With those thoughts as sweet as the treats she made, she fell asleep.

***

After her nap, she was asked to help with dinner. Making it took as long as the dinner itself, and Vittoria came to realize that dinners in Italy were long. _I need a nap just for dinner._ It was an exhausting affair and she wondered how they could make food for only three people because Vittoria was certainly full by the second course. By the end, she could barely move and was thankful that Sg.ra Bianchi carried her upstairs. 

Bath, brush, and bed happened suddenly. As she began to snuggle herself under the covers, Sig. Bianchi came in and told her Papa was on the phone. Her drowsiness left her and she suddenly felt light as a sprite and rushed to follow him towards the phone. Vittoria clumsily picked up the receiver, “Papa?”

_“Principessa, I wanted to check on you before you went to bed. How are you?”_

“I’m good. I just really miss you,” her voice cracked.

 _“I miss you too. Have you been good?”_ he asked.

“Uh-huh. I helped Mrs. Bianchi bake and we had a tea party in the gardens. She took lots of pictures! Then we took a nap, and then I woke up and helped her make dinner. We had a lot of food!” she said quickly, speaking faster and more fluently than any conversation she had had today.

_“You had a big day.”_

“Yeah,” she said twirling the cord around her finger, “But I missed you. I missed cooking with you, playing our games, and having you tuck me in.”

She sniffled a bit before quickly adding, “But I was good! I smiled the entire time.”

_“I’m so proud of you Vittoria. I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” he said with warmth in his voice, “I’ll be coming to get you tomorrow morning. By the time you wake up, I’ll be less than an hour away.”_

Vittoria gasped, “Really Papa?” 

“ _Yes. I brought you something from Rome. So did Sg.na Sagesse.”_

Vittoria paused, “Papa...why did you go to Rome with her?”

 _“I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. I have some very good news,”_ he said with absolute joy in his voice, and her heart pained a bit because she’d never heard that much joy directed at her.

Then, her blood ran cold and she thought of what Mrs. Bianchi said, “Papa...you...you didn’t marry her, did you?”

Papa laughed, “ _No Vittoria. If I had, you would’ve been there as the flower girl_.”

Vittoria’s dread didn't go away. “Are you going to marry her?” she asked, trying to keep her temper out of her voice.

Papa laughed again, “ _Vittoria, you sound a little jealous. It’s quite cute, but I’ll never love you any less. You’re my special girl. No feelings I have for others will ever come close to what I feel for you_.”

Vittoria smiled at his sweet words, and completely missed that he didn’t answer her question. “You’re the only boy I’ll ever love Papa,” she said sweetly.

 _“There’s no other woman principessa. You’re my one and only girl. I’ll see you tomorrow.”_ he said pleasantly.

“Wait!” she said before he could hang up, “I...what’s happened to Snowbell?”

“ _She’s fine_ ,” he said, “ _I had someone check on her. She’s at the house_.”

Vittoria gasped, “All alone?”

“ _She’ll be fine_ ,” Papa said firmly before changing his tone to honey, “ _Good night dolcezza. I’ll see you tomorrow morning_.”

Vittoria knew when a discussion with Papa was over. _It barely even started._ “Good night Papa,” she whispered and heard the other end of the receiver click.

All that was left was the lonely dull tone of the receiver with no one at the other end. With a sigh, she put the phone back and walked back to her room by herself. Sig. Bianchi was kind enough to give her privacy for the call, but now she had to put herself to bed. As she felt her way around in the dark and crawled under the covers, she excitedly imagined what he brought her. _If it’s a book, I swear to God (sorry God!) I’ll lose it._

 _I could use a radio or another tiara. I don’t have one in gold yet._ Exciting thoughts kept her up and it wasn’t until the sun was peeking through her window did she fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters are going to be rough! I hope this one was okay. Also, sorry for how long this one is.


	23. There Goes My Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vittoria extends her stay at the Bianchi's.

The sun peeked through the curtains and softly illuminated the face of the sleeping child in a halo of light. A true little angel whose eyes fluttered open when the rays hit her soft green eyes. Her dream of Mama had been rudely interrupted by the morning sun. _It had been so nice. Mama was playing dolls with me_. Knowing that something like that could only take place in a dream, she shut her eyes tight to try and return to a fictional world where she was truly happy. 

With a groan, she turned over and buried her face deep into her pillow, doing her best to ignore the rising sun. If Papa wasn’t there then she was content to stay in bed until he came. As soon as her eyes started to close and the sound of Mama’s voice began to lull her back into a deep sleep, she heard a loud knock on her door, making her heart jump into her throat and push out a scream. _No, no, no!_ She didn’t even have the opportunity to tell the person to go away, because they entered without permission.

“Buongiorno Vittoria,” Sg.ra Bianchi said softly as her feet padded over to the side of her bed.

 _I guess she doesn’t need permission if it’s her house._ “Papà è qui?” she asked, rubbing her eyes, sleep still in her voice.

The woman sat down next to her and brushed her messy hair out of her face. “Mi dispiace amore mio. Ha chiamato e ha detto che non sarà qui fino a stasera,” she whispered with a sad smile.

It took her a moment to process it. _I’m sorry my love...said no...here...tonight._ Believing she hadn’t heard it correctly, she asked “Dov'è?”

“Roma,” Sg.ra Bianchi replied, “Fino a stasera.”

Vittoria frowned. “No,” she whined, “Dov'è? Voglio mi Papa!”

It wasn’t long before she started to weep. “He promised! He promised me,” she sobbed.

 _He was supposed to be here this morning_! Sg.ra Bianchi held her as she cried, “I want my Daddy!”

 _He’s punishing me. I know he is._ The woman hummed, which Vittoria paid no attention to. _I can’t speak it very well. Why...why would he leave me?_ His lecture about the sight of crying children being upsetting was far out of her mind. _I want my Daddy!_ She wailed and really, she believed Sg.ra Bianchi didn’t mind and actually enjoyed the fact that she got to comfort a child who was in misery. 

The woman shushed her and soothed her just like Mrs. Marks did. Her heart ached with hurt, betrayal, and loneliness. _How could he do this?_ “Lo posso call him?” she hiccuped.

“Sta guidando,” she said as she pulled her close, “Driving.”

Vittoria let out a heavy and shaky sigh. Her tears had run out and what was left of them was staining her face. _Papa would be disappointed in me._ “Per favore, non dirlo,” she said with a hoarse voice, “That I cried.”

“Non preoccuparti,” she said softly, “Le bambine possono piangere davanti a me.”

 _I kind of understand._ “Papa doesn’t like it when I do it,” she whispered, not really meaning for Sg.ra Bianchi to hear.

As she was about to go on, the door creaked loudly as it was opened wide, “Perché suona come un gatto che sta morendo?”

Mr. Bianchi’s brown eyes narrowed, looking thinner than they already were. Vittoria pressed herself closer to the older woman when she heard his tone. She didn’t need to understand what he said to know that he wasn’t happy, because his tone and Sg.ra Bianchi’s reaction explained it all. Vittoria was so close to the woman that she could feel the vibrations rolling off her large chest as she furiously put her husband in her place. For such a large and heavyset man, he sure looked small when his wife spoke her mind.

In church, Mr. Marks always told his congregation that a husband guides his wife and family and that a wife should be meek (whatever that meant) and obedient while a husband should be a strong firm leader. It worked quite well in Vittoria's eyes when she saw how happy the Marks’ were, and it was like that in all the movies! So it was quite startling and odd to see a husband be told off. It was startling and odd, but so fun to watch! Her heart froze when the man, quite stupidly in her opinion, interrupted his wife. 

Sg.ra Bianchi was silent for a moment before she furiously ranted at him, and Vittoria couldn’t help but think of Moses sending the plagues down on Egypt. When the whole ordeal finally ended, the man huffed and said a few words (she assumed to soothe his wounded pride) before leaving and closing the door. Marilyn looked up at the woman who was bright red in the face, her brows furrowed and her mouth set in a frown. The hellfire in her eyes dissipated when she saw the child looking up at her curiously and in awe, “Lui ti piace?”

It only occurred to her that it was impolite to ask such a question after it left her mouth. The woman smiled widely and laughed, “Lo amo! Ha solo bisogno di un promemoria che non tutti hanno bisogno di sentire cosa ha in mente.”

Vittoria understood the, “I love him” part and that was it. She smiled at the woman to pretend she got it though. “Ecco quel tuo bellissimo sorriso,” Sg.ra Bianchi said as she stroked her cheek.

Vittoria leaned into her touch, pretending it was her Mama’s. After a few more moments of relishing in the woman’s maternal affection, Sg.ra Bianchi must have decided it was time for her to clean herself up and have breakfast. Vittoria was dressed in a light pink dress and white stockings and mary-janes. Her hair unfortunately was pulled back in a tight ponytail that pulled painfully on her scalp. _I’ll be as bald as Mr. Bianchi if adults keep doing this._

There were four things that were thin about Mr. Bianchi: his eyes, his hair, his mouth, and his temper. As jolly as he looked, Vittoria never really liked him, which is why she had to try her best and keep a pout off of her face when she was seated next to him at breakfast. His mood at breakfast remained the exact same until he put food in his mouth, and after that he was a totally different person! He laughed with his wife, smiled at her, and looked like he was truly a man in love. Knowing Mama’s temper, Vittoria wondered if this was what her parent’s marriage was like. Fighting one moment and then looking at each other like they were each other’s world the next.

Vittoria strained her mind, trying to translate what they were saying. So far, Mr. Bianchi was having friends over that day which Mrs. Bianchi didn’t like, but she said (partially in English) that she was taking Vittoria shopping and then to the market. “Sono andata,” she paused, “Shopping with Sg.na Sagesse per Natale.”

She knew it wasn’t her best but she hoped they understood. And they seemed to because they gave her wide smiles and asked her about her trip, “I got Papa an,” she tried to think of a way to say ornament but gave up and tried to show it with her hands, “Ornament.”

“Ornamento,” Sig. Bianchi corrected, “Very nice.”

His accent was thick but Vittoria thanked him for the compliment. “Sono un'artista!” she exclaimed proudly.

She captivated her smiling audience as she went on to explain her interests in poor Italian. Vittoria was their only source of entertainment as all their children were grown and off pursuing their own business ventures in different parts of Italy. The Bianchi’s had three sons who, while successful, were unmarried which in their mother’s opinion was the most God awful thing in the world. No marriage equaled no grandchildren. And Alessia had to hear about her aunt’s thoughts on the matter all the time given that she lived there.

It was an unspoken agreement that if Alessia brought over Leonardo, then she must bring over Vittoria who seemed to be enough to placate the woman’s empty nest syndrome. If Vittoria could carry an entire conversation, she’d enjoy it more. Sig. Bianchi wiped his mouth and threw down his napkin. “An artista,” he said slowly, trying to find the words in English, “She needs...tools. Si?”

His eyes sparkled and turned around to reach inside of his pocket, pulling out a wallet. It shouldn’t have surprised her that he had a lot of money to spare, _look at his house_ , but she was more than a little startled when he took out all of the Italian lira in his wallet and handed it to her. Her eyes went comically wide, which made him laugh. _What can I even say?_ “Grazie per,” she began before he raised his hand to stop her.

Her mouth shut as he smiled at her, “Dipingimi un quadro, piccola artist.”

 _He called me a little artist, but I have no idea what the rest meant_. “Grazie Signore,” she squealed.

 _Okay nevermind, I like him. A lot._ Her shining eyes met the older woman’s warm ones. Mrs. Bianchi was grinning at her husband and whatever bad feelings she loudly expressed earlier had vanished. After they finished their meal, the man shooed them away and to go about their activities for the day, and he would go about his business. With her pink purse, a wad of lira, and her unfortunate mink coat, she followed Sg.ra Bianchi out the door and into the car. Her Papa may not have been there, but she felt the day become a little brighter.

***

The market was bustling with people, locals and tourists alike. _I’m a local,_ she thought proudly. She could hardly listen in to the English conversations due to the sheer volume of the collective voices around her that were sifting through stands of fresh fruit and produce and arguing with vendors. _That’s super normal._

Her hand was currently being held by Sg.ra Bianchi who was looking through a produce stand trying to find the best vegetables for that night's dinner. _I don’t know why adults always want to hold my hand._ Vittoria found that quite annoying. _I just want to explore! How can I be a princess explorer if they keep holding my hand?_ Standing there for so long without a conversation made her grow impatient and she couldn’t help whining a bit to get the woman’s attention. Vittoria Borghese hated being bored and God help the adults if she decided to find her own fun.

“Un momento,” Sg.ra Bianchi said without looking at her.

Vittoria rapidly tapped her foot against the cobblestone and was mildly relieved when Mrs. Bianchi’s attention focused on her. Unfortunately, the older woman tried to lecture her on how to find the best fruits and vegetables and what to look for. At least, that’s what Vittoria got from it after seeing the woman passionately gesture and talk about the cucumbers and tomatoes in her hand. She did her best to look interested and it was convincing enough because Mrs. Bianchi gave her a pleasing look.

They paid and left swiftly, with Mrs. Bianchi leading her God knows where. Vittoria couldn’t understand a thing she was saying, so she had to amuse herself by looking around at the people and scenes around her. Her attention only returned to the older women when she heard the word, “Gelato?”

The child’s expression was darling as her soft green eyes lit up with excitement and pure joy, “Sì! Sì! Sì!” she exclaimed.

Mrs. Bianchi laughed and dragged her into a chilly but sweet-smelling parlor. Vittoria already knew what she wanted. One thing she loved about Sg.ra Bianchi is that anytime she went over to her mansion, she could pretty much get anything and everything she wanted. And boy, did she exploit that! Papa didn’t allow her to drink apple juice or grape juice but at the Bianchi’s? All she had to do was ask and it'd be their little secret. Papa didn’t allow her to watch television, and when she found out that little rule, she complained endlessly. Mrs. Bianchi let her watch tv, but it was all in Italian. She didn’t understand any of it, but just the thrill of doing something that she wasn’t allowed to do more than made up for it.

Mrs. Bianchi’s answer was almost always yes. Papa spoiled her, but _sometimes he has a no-fun attitude_. It was sad that Sg.ra Bianchi and she couldn’t carry a full conversation, however, the tokens of affection they gave each other were more than enough. They were finally at the front of the line ordering where she ended up pointing to what she wanted and exclaimed, “Cioccolato!”

There were so many types of chocolate, but she had no idea how to say the names so pointing was her best course of action even though it was considered rude. That earned her a frown from the gelato man and her caregiver, but she returned that with a smile that was too endearing to stay mad at. Ms. Sagesse would be quite disappointed if she saw how quickly and greedily Vittoria grabbed her gelato with a delayed ‘thank you’, which came as a mere afterthought while she was digging into her sweet treat. No one bothered to correct her though.

Mrs. Bianchi led her to sit down at a table to eat and rest their aching limbs. It wasn’t until her legs were off the ground and swinging underneath the table did she realize how tired and sore she was. _Shopping is a lot of work._ “You like?” the woman asked warmly as Vittoria took a big bite of the creamy treat.

“Mhm!” she mumbled, trying to keep her mouth closed, “Grazie!”

Mrs. Bianchi really had a lovely smile, and it seemed that she had waited so long to dote on a child again. The smile she was wearing could only come from the pure joy of watching a delighted child. “Special girl,” she said affectionately, “Papa is lucky.”

“Grazie,” Vittoria said pleasantly but ended it there.

 _I really don’t know what else to say._ Mrs. Bianchi sighed, “Sons don’t visit. No mogli e no figlio.”

Her brown eyes gazed wistfully away from the child, fixed in her sullen thoughts. “But you’re a good mamma!” Vittoria said defensively.

 _What kind of child wouldn’t visit their parents?_ “Grazie,” the woman said kindly, endeared by Vittoria’s words of defense, “Alessia visits. Good girl.”

“I like Ms. Sagesse. She’s pretty and nice,” Vittoria explained, “I never had a teacher like her before.”

 _I feel like I say that a lot…_ “Sister is in America. Suo marito è americano,” she said bitterly, “One child!”

Vittoria wanted to put her two cents in, but the woman kept blabbing. “Terrible lasciare familia.”

 _Terrible...to leave...family...Terrible to leave family!_ “Alessia...won’t marry,” her tone turned annoyed, “Women now...not like old times.”

Vittoria nodded in agreement as the words of her Bible studies teacher rang in her head: " _We’re meant to be wives and mothers."_

Vittoria was quite shocked that Ms. Sagesse wouldn’t marry, because _how else will she have children_? “ **I** wanna get married,” Vittoria said in both reassurance and in an effort to one-up the woman she considered a friend.

Yes, the girl who hated boys and thought they were extensions of the devil himself still wanted to marry. “Good girl,” Mrs. Bianchi said proudly, “Good wife e mother.”

Her cheeks blushed and her chest puffed out in pride. _I will be_. They smiled at each other as Vittoria took another big scoop of gelato and stuck it into her mouth. _This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted_. “Always wanted a girl,” the woman sighed softly.

 _Well duh! We’re the best!_ “We’re better,” Vittoria said smugly, “And nicer! And prettier!”

The woman must’ve understood because she went on a rant entirely in Italian which is when Vittoria lost interest. All she knew was when it was time to move onto the next shop. And boy oh boy, did she feel like a princess. The woman’s wallet was as big as her heart, and she was as generous with her spending as she was with distributing her love. They _finally_ went into the art store where Vittoria was eager to spend her wads of cash.

 _Where’s the glitter?_ In her eight-year-old opinion, the store was set up like a maze and she was the princess adventurer who had to find the sparkly treasure! Vittoria pulled the old woman through every aisle, taking her sweet time to stand on her tippy toes to find what she was looking for. There are several reasons why children shouldn’t be in charge of money, and one of the big reasons is because Vittoria threw everything that stimulated her eyes into her basket. The basket consisted of a myriad of bright color paints, watercolors, and oil acrylics.

It got to be so heavy that Sg.ra Bianchi had to end up carrying it, though she never complained. Vittoria bounced on her heels the moment she caught sight of the glitter. _I may love it a little too much...hah no such thing!_ Light blue, dark blue, pink, red, orange, and every color of the rainbow was sparkling in front of her eyes. Naturally, she had to take one of each, the price be damned! Mainly because she didn’t know how much anything cost nor did she grasp the concept of a budget and spending within her limit. _It doesn’t matter. Mrs. Bianchi will pay for the rest_! 

“You like?” the woman laughed with her thick accent, eyeing the heavy load of art supplies.

“Uh-huh!” Vittoria nodded energetically, “I’m gonna be an artist when I grow up!”

 _I’ll be really good at it!_ “I also wanna be a princess,” she added, “Una artista principessa!”

 _I can be both._ “Certo che puoi! Sei una ragazzina intelligente!” the woman complimented to a beaming Vittoria.

“Grazie,” she said graciously before returning her attention to the row of sparkles, and she was awestruck when her eyes saw the bottom shelves.

Vittoria Borghese thought that her favorite thing in the world was glitter, but she was wrong! The vibrant sparkling of the gems in front of her made her gasp. _I need this! I need this or I’ll die!_ Her role as a princess explorer kicked into overdrive, “I found the treasure!”

Did she know what to do with the beads and studs? No. Did she know how to use them? Also no. But did she want them more than anything else in her life? At that moment, she did. “Mrs. Bianchi,” she squealed in a sing-song voice, “Look at them!”

“Sono bellissimo!” Mrs. Bianchi replied.

Without even asking for permission, she grabbed the pinks, purples, light blues, bright greens, and reds! _I’ll put 'em in a box and hide it in my room. It’ll be my treasure chest!_ Her arms were full of the boxes of beads and gems, to the point where several of them fell down with a loud clatter on the floor. “I think...enough,” Mrs. Bianchi said in a motherly voice.

Right when she said that, Vittoria dumped more beads into the basket. The poor woman would be pulled down to the center of the Earth at this rate. “Vittoria,” she said warningly.

“I need string!” she exclaimed, “So I can make a necklace and bracelet for Ms. Sagesse and you!”

She pointed to her neck when she said necklace, her wrist when she said bracelet, and to Mrs. Bianchi when she said you. _It can’t hurt to make her happy._ And it paid off because the woman looked beyond flattered at the prospect of an item made by _the_ Vittoria Borghese. _I should make jewelry when I grow up!_ Vittoria was used to never getting whatever she wanted whenever she asked for it. _Mama loved to say no_. It was fun to have no limits!

Vittoria ended up going over her lira amount, so Mrs. Bianchi had to pay the rest. _But she’s happy to do it_! They left the store with everything she wanted, and all she could think of was _I’m glad Papa’s friends with rich people! They’re great!_

***

It only took two more hours of shopping but they were finally on their way back to the car. Vittoria skipped along the street, her mary-janes clicking against the cobblestone in a beat of optimism and happiness. Unlike Ms. Sagesse and Papa, Sg.ra Bianchi didn’t try to hold her hand that time. At least on the condition that she stayed in her line of sight. And how could she refuse the woman anything when she had indulged her every wish?

Their poor chauffeur was carrying the heavy proof of her happiness, which was made up of paintbrushes, paints, oil pastels (which she called super crayons), canvas, a variety of paper, and glitter. Lots of glitter. And that was just for art! Mrs. Bianchi also bought her a diamond-studded cross necklace, which was laying delicately on her small neck. Her most favorite gift, _my favorite thing in the_ ** _entire_** _world,_ was the little music box that had two, _that’s right TWO_ , nursery songs on it: the London Bridge and Row, Row, Row Your Boat. _AND IT SHOWS PICTURES WHEN YOU PLAY THE MUSIC_!

Vittoria endearingly sang the songs to herself without the music, mainly because she wasn’t allowed to open it until she got into the car. “Come on!” she exclaimed excitedly.

Sg.ra Bianchi laughed and held onto her hat tightly as she did her best to pick up the pace. Vittoria couldn’t help but prattle all the way there in English, only returning to speaking in Italian when they entered the car. As soon as she was buckled in, she ripped the box out of its packaging and furiously turned the knob. Mrs. Bianchi leaned over and watched the box play, and listened to the girl sing to the tune:

“Row row row your boat gently down the stream,” she sang as she watched the pictures move, “Marry-lee, maralee, merrily, married-ly, life is but a dream!”

The woman smiled at her and gave her a series of compliments before Vittoria sang the next part. And she continued to replay the tune and sing, and sing, and sing for the whole hour and a half car ride home. When they pulled up to the mansion, poor whatever his name was (she didn’t bother to learn it), was left to carry everything inside. Except for her music box of course, which she just HAD to show to Mr. Bianchi. As the door was opened for her, she saw a group of well-dressed older men standing in the foyer talking to Mr. Bianchi.

Her excitement quickly drained like water in a sink as she stood there nervously with Mrs. Bianchi standing stiffly behind her. It was clear to her that these men, Mr. Bianchi’s “friends” were not supposed to still be here. The forced sweetness in the woman’s voice was polite yet irritated as the men focused and conversed with her, before they set their sights on Vittoria. Mrs. and Mr. Bianchi tried to shoo her away but a tall lanky bald man with icy blue eyes who reminded Vittoria very much of Lex Luthor walked towards her. “Signorina Borghese, correct?” he asked, his voice as cold as his eyes.

He had a wide Chesire cat grin that frightened her, which must’ve shown on her face. “Um...si...signore,” she said politely.

He bent forward and took her small dainty hand and pressed a kiss to it. _Not okay!_ “I’m Signore Costa,” he said softly as he pulled away, “You’re Leo Angelino’s daughter.”

It wasn’t a question. Vittoria refused to nod. _And our last name is Borghese. Not Angelino._ “It was such a shame he wasn’t here today,” he said in a fake voice, “At least we’ve got the next best thing, hm? You look just like him. Very pretty.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said politely.

She couldn’t say she was flattered. _He’s creepy._ “I used to have hair just like yours,” he mused, “I think we’d look quite alike if I still had it. Don’t you think?”

 _What?_ “Maybe sir,” she said quietly.

 _Why is he so weird?_ “Hmm,” he hummed, “You know, it is so nice to meet someone else who speaks English, don’t you think?”

Normally she would agree, and even be relieved that she found someone who spoke her first language but she wished now more than ever that she had a language barrier between them. “Well, it’s my best language,” she explained.

“You speak it so well,” he complimented, “I haven’t used it in so long, even around your father.”

Vittoria stared at him awkwardly, not sure what to say. _Why is he talking to me?_ Mr. Costa was clearly expecting more of a conversation instead of her clipped answers. “È ora del suo pisolino,” Mr. Bianchi interjected, but whatever Mr. Costa replied with, stopped him.

“And what do you have there?” he asked, gesturing to her music box.

She held it closer to her chest, “Um...a music…a music box.”

“A music box?” he gasped and said something in Italian to his friends who laughed.

“Uh-huh,” she confirmed, “It shows pictures.”

She didn’t know why she added that part. “It has pictures?” he grinned and translated it to his friends, “Can you show us, sweetheart?”

 _No._ She looked over to Sg.ra Bianchi who smiled at her uncomfortably but nodded for her to do so. _Why won’t she help me? I don’t wanna talk to them. Can’t she tell?_ With her lip in a pout, she shakily turned the knob to show them. The box played its tune and the men did what adults do, show fake enthusiasm for the sake of the child. _I can tell. I can always tell._

“How lovely,” he smiled, “I bet you sing along to it too.”

 _No, no, no!_ Vittoria shook her head. “Not really sir,” she lied.

 _Help me,_ she pleaded with her eyes. The Bianchi’s did nothing. “Oh that’s too bad,” he tutted, “Say, won’t you try? Put on a little show for us? You’re already dressed so prettily.”

“I’m...I uh…,” she stammered nervously, “Thank you, but I don’t...don’t think I can.”

“Don’t be shy. I’m sure you have a lovely voice,” he pressured.

 _I_ **_do_ **_have a lovely voice._ But that wasn’t the problem, the problem was she didn’t want to. _You can’t just say that! It’s rude!_ Being rude was the absolute worst thing she could ever be because Papa would be very disappointed and very angry if she was. _I promised to be good. Is this part of being good?_

All of their eyes were looking at her expectantly, and she once again looked over to the Bianchis. _Will they tell Papa I’m being bad?_ “I’m not a good singer,” she lied.

“Può esibirsi un'altra volta,” Mr. Bianchi said quickly before he went up behind her to grab her by the shoulders, “Deve andare da un'altra parte adesso.”

She looked up at the man curiously and saw his eyes had hardened like coal. “What a shame,” Mr. Costa tutted at the man before returning his gaze towards her, “There’s always next time. Right, darling?”

 _I’m not your darling._ Nevertheless, Vittoria nodded politely. Mr. Costa smiled, which sent a chill down her spine before she wanted to leap out of her skin when he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. _I should skin your lips off like Ms. Sagesse said._ “I hope we meet again soon,” he whispered before he pulled away.

He straightened his green tweed jacket and was the first to say goodbye to the rest of the party. The rest of the men didn’t stay much longer but one burly man lingered for a moment and whispered something in her ear when he kissed her cheek, “Stai attento nella tana del lupo.”

Vittoria had no idea what that meant so she mumbled a quick “Grazie” as he pulled away. He looked at her with pleading brown puppy-dog eyes, that was aching for her to understand something. The man smoothed the few remaining hairs on his head back and then left without another word. _Is everyone bald? Is that a rule when you get old? I sure hope not._

Her heart continued to pound and when she was certain they were alone, she looked over at the Bianchi’s who looked incredibly nervous. “I don’t like Mr. Costa,” she said loudly, “He’s a weirdo!”

Her words fell upon deaf ears and she was infuriatingly sent to another room to play while the adults talked. Vittoria did her best to enjoy her new gifts by making Ms. Sagesse, Mrs. Bianchi, and Sg.ra Giordano their own bracelets with the beads she bought (or Mrs. Bianchi bought her) while she let her music box play in the background on a continuous loop. Once she was done, she got to work and painted a picture for Mr. Bianchi, but a distracting heaviness filled her chest. _Mr. Costa was creepy. I wonder what Papa would’ve done. Mama would’ve shot him._

She angrily finished a picture of a puppy dog for Mr. Bianchi and for as angry as she was when she painted it, it was pretty good. Sure there were places where the paint pooled and the eyes looked bigger than the nose, but _art is art_! Vittoria went into the kitchen to show off her homemade gifts. “This is for you,” she said with a smile as she handed a rainbow beaded bracelet to the woman.

It took an eternity (10 minutes) for the woman to let go of her and another century (6 minutes) for her to stop smothering her. “Dolce dolce ragazza,” Sg.ra Bianchi said tearily, “Sei la nipote che ho sempre voluto!”

She understood ninety percent of what the woman said and it made her grin so wide that her face hurt. _Papa loves me, Ms. Sagesse loves me, Snowbell loves me, Sg.ra Giordano loves me, and now Sg.ra Bianchi does too! There have never been so many people who love me so much before._ Love and affection were something entirely new to her and it came with a happiness and youthfulness she never experienced when she lived in America. “I love you!” she squealed, wrapping her arms tightly around Mrs. Bianchi’s waist.

Yes, it trapped her for a good long while but she found it was worth it for the time being. Vittoria didn’t even realize she was crying when she finally pulled away. _I don’t get it. I’m happy!_ Her tears weren’t like her other ones. There was no heaviness in her chest, no nausea in her belly, and there was certainly no difficulty getting air into her lungs. Of course, good things don’t last long for Miss Borghese and the utter confusion of what she was feeling led her to cry in distress.

Unlike every other adult, Sg.ra Bianchi didn’t ask what was wrong, she just sat down in a chair and let Vittoria come to her. _She didn’t try and grab me._ Vittoria hesitantly went and sat on her lap, and allowed herself to be comforted by the woman she would now call her nonna. _She does what grandmas do!_ Vittoria never met any of her grandparents, nor did she know anything about them. Papa was as secretive about his parents as Mama was hers. _I know I’m named after Mama’s mommy._

 _I like life here._ Vittoria was content sitting with her nonna, neither saying anything. The only sound came from her nonna humming to calm her down. _I’m okay Mama. I’m going to be okay._ Her thoughts made her nose sting, but for the first time in a long while, she actually felt like she could grant Papa her promise to let go. 

***

Dinner was going swell! Vittoria reveled in being the center of attention between the two adults who were treating her like their own. She excitedly collected everything she made that day and put on a little “art show” where she proudly displayed her paintings for her father, teacher, and Sig. Bianchi who-from what she could understand-was going to frame it and hang it up in his office. _Like a real art gallery!_

“La mia classe è andata avanti a field trip to an art gallery,” she spoke excitedly, “This pictura was one from the trip!”

She held up a black and dark blue painting that was just the right mix to portray the color of the night sky, and of course, what would the nighttime be without the twinkle of stars?! A sizable amount of glitter got on the dining room table but no one made a fuss as she showed them how she carefully glued some of the gems onto the paper to make it look real! To others, it was a dark and damp curling piece of paper that had one too many layers of glitter on it, but to her, it was the nighttime sky. Her heart leaped and she grinned when they clapped and showered her with praise. “And then this one,” she smiled, “Is of my family!”

In school, she only drew her and Mama and always had to embarrassingly explain she didn’t have a Papa when the teacher asked why she hadn’t finished. Now, her family picture was complete! “There’s Mama, Papa, Principessa Snowbell, e me!” 

Vittoria used her super crayons for the picture. She drew Mama in a red gown, just like the one she wore to the opera house when she met Papa for the first time and Papa in what she imagined he was wearing, which was a black tuxedo suit. Even though she wasn’t born yet, she still inserted herself and her kitten into the scene. Vittoria had no idea what an opera house looked like or what it even was, so she drew a rectangle house with the sign _Opera_ hanging above it that was spelled _Opra_. _Everyone is smiling and happy_! “They danced all night! Like Sleeping Beauty and Prince Philip,” she said in a whimsical voice, her eyes shining as she stared at her picture.

“Bella famiglia,” Sig. Bianchi cooed.

“E bella pictura,” Sg.ra Bianchi smiled, “You make one for us, si?”

Marilyn gasped, “You...you want me to make one of your family?”

“Si,” the woman reaffirmed, “Sig. Bianchi, me, e mia tre figlio.”

“I can do that!” she said.

 _I’ll need to know what they look like._ Vittoria found it quite odd that for such a family-oriented couple, they didn't have a lot of photos of their sons as grown-ups sitting around. Her thoughts broke when she heard Mr. Bianchi's voice. “How much?” Sig. Bianchi asked in good humor, “I veri artisti vengono pagati!”

She had no idea what the last part meant, but she believed he wanted to pay her for her work. “A billion lira!” she said confidently.

The man gasped making his chin meet his pudgy neck, “A billion?”

“Uh-huh!” she grinned, _though maybe that’s unfair, he did pay for my art supplies_ , “But I’ll make it a million for you.”

 _That’s more fair._ He pretended to wipe the sweat off of his face in mock relief. _I wonder if he’ll actually pay me. I_ **_am_** _a_ **_real_** _artist after all._ She sweetly showed them the rest of her work where they kindly applauded and complimented it. The last part of her art show included her giving them a private performance of _The London Bridge is Falling Down_ and _Row, Row, Row Your Boat_ with her music box. _It’s the_ ** _least_ ** _I can do!_

She was interrupted in the middle of her third encore by the loud ring of the phone. _It’s late. People shouldn’t call this late. Has something happened to Papa?_ Her palms got sweaty, her heart began to beat fast and hard against her chest, and nausea pooled in her stomach. Sig. Bianchi looked bothered by the call and spoke in a hushed but frustrated whisper. Vittoria was quiet and still, not realizing that Sg.ra Bianchi had come up behind her and put her comforting hands on her shoulders. Her heart jumped when the phone clicked with the receiver, it sounded louder than it was.

“Papa?” she asked in a shaking tone.

Sig. Bianchi pursed his lips, before giving her a sweet smile, “No, work.”

Marilyn sighed in relief before her heart started pounding again. _Where_ ** _is_ ** _Papa? He should be here by now. He should’ve been here forever ago! Did he abandon me?_ She was completely ignorant of the heated conversation the couple was having as she ran through everything she had done wrong. _Is he really that mad about the minks? I’ll-I’ll never complain again! Please God, bring him back to me!_ Marilyn hadn’t been this scared, since her Mama had left her at the church daycare way too long after she got off from work. She had thought Mama had abandoned her, but she came back eventually. _It was the first time I ever saw Mrs. Marks mad_! 

Sg.ra Bianchi was pestering her husband as they left the room, arguing over whatever it was they were arguing about. They never needed many reasons. “Can I call my Papa?” she asked in a shaky voice.

They ignored her. Sig. Bianchi was putting on his coat and grabbed his hat as he loudly argued back towards his wife who was standing furiously by the door with her hands on her hips. Vittoria could tell she had practiced her scolding stance several times over the course of her life. “I WANT MY PAPA!” she screamed, stomping her foot with fiery authority.

It was quick and she barely noticed it, but she received a pop on her mouth for the attitude and volume of her voice from Sig. Bianchi. Vittoria looked up at him hurt, more emotionally than physically but she still felt a throbbing pain on her lips. “Non frignare,” he admonished sternly, his eyes firm and heated.

Vittoria pouted and let out an insincere apology. _I don’t like it when people hit me. It’s different with Papa and Mama_. For one moment, she was dining with them and being the perfect child and the next, _he’s treating me so terribly!_ She was seething. 

Vittoria’s first instinct was to tattle, but to who? Papa wasn’t there and she doubted he’d take her side if he heard she was being a brat. _I wasn’t being a brat!_ Vittoria’s surroundings blurred together as she ignored the peck on the cheek Sig. Bianchi gave to his wife and then to her. She grimaced when she felt his lips pressed to her cheek. _You hit me!_

Her eyes watched him carry his briefcase out the door and his wife standing outside, watching him go like those war wives she’d seen in those TV dramas with her Mama. _We always used to make fun of them together_. It occurred to her that she’d probably be tattled on when Papa came back and then her thirty-seven spankings would increase to a hundred when he found out. _But that’s not fair! He hit_ **me**! She thought it was quite reasonable that she was upset about being separated from her father, and what else could she do but yell? _It’s not like they were listening to me_! She glowered at him as he got in the car, waving to her and his wife. _Don’t wave at me._ Vittoria’s scowl was as fearsome as her mother and father’s combined. _I’ll be damned if I get in trouble._ All goodwill between her and Mr. Bianchi was forgotten. _I knew I didn’t like you. I hope you die._

She didn’t know why or exactly when it happened. When and why God finally decided to humor her and answer her prayers. All she knew was that the engine turned on and then the world roared and shook in scraps of metal and flames. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof and I'm sorry but it'll probably be a little while until the next chapter comes out 😬. I have posted all of the written chapters and it's been hectic with work. But poor Marilyn...


	24. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn deals with the aftermath of the car bombing.

Vittoria didn’t quite know what it was that made her cry first. Was it the heart-stoppingly loud sound of an explosive? Or was it the car bursting into a fiery inferno? Perhaps, it’s the fact that she just saw a man die. That could be it, because she had undoubtedly seen a man die. Signore Bianchi’s precious little metal car became a precious little coffin, at least what was left of him. _Is there anything left? There was barely anything left of Mama’s face…_

It was like the air left her lungs at that thought. _Red painted walls...missing forehead...blood...so much blood...Oh, God..._ She had no idea whose screams were louder, hers or Mrs. Bianchi’s. Her attention was hardly focused on the wailing woman and instead on the ever-approaching tiles of the floor as she violently sank down onto her knees, which could no longer carry her in her state of shock. 

_“It’ll be alright sweetie,” a policeman said, “We’ll find you a place, just don’t you worry.”_

_“Mama! My Mama…” she shrieked and sobbed, “I want my Mama!”_

_“Can we get her a-,” the policeman began to call before she gripped his hairy arms painfully._

_“Bring me…” she gasped, “My Mama!”_

_The policeman, a brown-haired man with blue eyes gazed at her sadly, “I can’t do that…”_

_“Wake her up!” Marilyn sobbed as if it was as simple as Mama dying in her sleep instead of the cruel sickening reality that her mother’s head had been blown off._

**_The police are supposed to help me. Grandpa was a police officer. Mama said so._ ** _“Don, let me talk to her,” Officer Coombs said, excusing the other man of his duty as he made a motion to kneel down in front of her, “Hello Marilyn, you know me right?”_

 **_Mama hates your wife._ ** _Of course, she knew Mr. Coombs. They went to church with him and his gossipy wife._ **_She probably already knows and is telling everyone._ ** _Marilyn was too stunned and could only manage a sniffle, “I-I want my mommy!”_

 **_Why is no one being helpful?_ ** _“I know you do,” he said in a syrupy voice, his grey eyes meeting hers, “I’d bring her back if I could.”_

 **_That’s a damn lie._ ** _“You’re supposed….supposed to help!”_

_“I’ll do everything I can,” he vowed and looked behind him to gesture over a woman who walked in._

_The blood in Marilyn’s veins turned to ice. She knew exactly who that woman was. “No!” she screamed and launched out of her seat before strong constricting arms wrapped around her._

_“Ms. O’Ryan is just here to help you,” he whispered into her ear, the feeling of which made the hairs on the back of her neck stand-up._

_Oh, she knew Ms. O’Ryan. She came to their house when Marilyn was in first-grade and did an“interview”, which was code for an investigation to take her away from her Mama. No matter how nice she seemed, she was the embodiment of evil in Marilyn’s eyes._ **_Worser than Maleficent._ ** _“Hi Marilyn,” she said softly as she approached her._

_“GO TO HELL!” Marilyn screamed in her face._

_Ms. O’Ryan pursed her lips in disapproval at the child’s language but didn’t say a thing. “I know that you’re scared,” she said in a calm voice that gave Marilyn chills, “And you’re in grief. But I promise you, everything will turn out alright.”_

**_Liar._ ** _When the woman reached for her, Marilyn screamed and she didn’t stop until they gave her a special bitter candy that put her to sleep. She’d resent it forever, because even asleep, she wouldn’t be able to escape her new nightmarish reality._

Vittoria didn’t know what she had done to deserve a living nightmare. She had always thought herself good, not perfect, but good. _What did I do to-,_ she began to hyperventilate when she realized what had happened. It wasn’t an action, but a thought. _An evil devilish thought. I’m...I’m a murderer!_

“I DI-DIDN’T MEAN IT!” she screamed, her cries incomplete as she took sharp painful gasps between words, “WHY DID...DID YOU...LISTEN NOW?!”

 _Why not when I prayed for Mama? Or when I was being bullied by Rat-faced Rodney?_ Vittoria Borghese was furious. _THAT’S NOT FAIR GOD!_ Her vision blurred, her surroundings turning into a yellowish golden light. Tears were streaming down her face, “I HATE YOU!” 

_You kill everyone I love!_ Her despair, frustration, and anger all culminated at that moment, exploding like the car that had killed Signore Bianchi. “WHAT...DID...did I do wrong?” she exclaimed up at the ceiling, the only answer coming from the echoes of her voice bouncing off the gold.

Her misery began to consume her, and she scarcely noticed the car pulling into the driveway, the two occupants rushing out, nor did she register their voices, one, in particular, calling out to her. Just like _that night_ , she heard and saw nothing but the echoes of her screams and the faces of the dead. Her senses were totally numb, making her unaware of the presence in front of her, calling to her gently and then loudly. Not even the shaking brought her out of her fit until a loud crack and sharp sting spread across her cheek that shocked her back into her nightmarish reality. Vittoria’s voice muted and while everything around her looked like a watercolor painting, the image of her Papa in front of her was as clear as crystal. “Vittoria,” he said in a loud clear voice that held back a waver.

Everything else around her sounded like a hum, not that she could find a word to describe it herself. _Papa’s back._ She looked into his deep blue eyes and took him in without words, not daring to believe that he was actually there and-, “Vittoria,” he repeated and gave her a harsh shake.

As she felt her body sway, she suddenly realized his hands were gripping her shoulders, his fingers digging into them. _Ow. That hurts and-_ _oh...he’s real._ “Papa?” she croaked.

Papa audibly sighed in what she guessed was relief, “Are you hurt principessa?”

 _He’s here. He came back for me. His principessa._ “You’re back,” she said in a raspy voice.

“Yes, but answer my question. Are you hurt principessa?” he asked as his eyes analytically raked over her. 

“My back’s still sore,” she mentioned.

It wasn’t terrible. More of a dull pain that was noticeable sometimes, but she was no longer afraid to sit down. “Anything else?” he asked insistently as he brushed loose tendrils of hair out of her face.

She left his question unanswered as her voice became soft, small, and watery, “You came back for me.”

She remembered feeling so alone that night. _I_ **_was_ ** _alone. No one was coming for me. I had no one._ Tears streamed down her face. “You came back for me Papa,” she whispered again.

“I did principessa-,” he began but was cut off by surprise when she threw her small arms around his shoulders.

Vittoria nuzzled her face into the crook of her Papa’s neck, inhaling his familiar floral perfume that made her feel safe. His arms wrapped around her in a hug, pulling her body closer to his. _He’s back. He came back. You came back for me..._ Vittoria repeated those five words like a prayer, clinging to them like a lifeline. Actual proof that she wasn’t alone. She could feel his heartbeat and arms around her, smell his sweet cologne, see his deep blue eyes, and hear him breath steady breaths. Her senses clung to him like an anchor, the only thing keeping her in reality and from drifting off into her subconscious. _He’s real. He’s alive. He came back for me_. “Yes principessa, I always will,” were the last words she heard before everything faded to black.

***

Vittoria had the faintest of an idea of what was happening around her. It was like she blinked. One moment she was in the foyer seeing...that, and the next she was in her guestroom. Her swollen eyes painfully opened and her head was pounding, and for a moment she considered that it was a bad dream. Vittoria could only see the fuzzy outlines of the furniture, which she knew the room contained too much of to be her actual room. Her _real_ room at Sycamore Drive. _That means Mama’s still dead...that’s still real_. 

It felt like the morning after she had found her Mama, where she woke up convincing herself it was all a dream before reality crashed back down and shattered her heart with its weight. “Mama” she croaked, immediately wincing from the pain of her raw vocal cords. 

It only took another moment to realize that she was in the Bianchi’s mansion, _in Italy. Papa left me with them. That’s still real_ . Vittoria prayed and believed with her eight-year-old heart that if she forced herself to go back to sleep, she’d wake to a better and brighter world. _It’s just a bad dream_. Her body and soul were tired, so it took hardly any effort to fall back asleep hoping that when she woke up, she’d be free from this nightmare.

***

No such luck she discovered. She found however that when she did wake up, or what could be considered being awake, she was tucked snugly in her own bedroom. _When did we go home? I...it was a nightmare. Praise Jesus!_ It took Vittoria a moment to realize that she wasn’t alone. Her blurry vision cleared up and although she still felt weights drag her eyes down, she was able to keep them open enough to see her Papa talking to another man in rapid Italian. The man lacked any hair with the exception of white tufts on the side of his head, and if that didn’t give away his age, his saggy face would. _It reminds me of dough_. He was dressed in a three-piece brown tweed suit, not that Vittoria could name the brand of fabric other than that it was brown. 

Covering his suit was a doctor’s coat and the sudden realization of his profession made her glance to her side table that was covered in different medical instruments that struck fear into her heart. Her nervous eyes glanced towards Papa who was wearing a frown that did not suit his face. Whatever news he was receiving, he wasn’t pleased. _Am I...am I dying?_ “Papa,” she whined, breaking the pair of men out of their conversation.

Her voice barely made a sound and her throat was painful, agonizingly so. The men turned to look towards her, the doctor wearing a brief state of shock before he returned to a professional expression. “Vittoria,” he whispered with relief and went to her bedside, “Thank God you’re awake.”

She did her best to ask her questions in as few words as possible. It was too painful to speak but her curiosity had to be sated. “What’s going on?” she croaked, “Am I dying?”

Her lip wobbled and upon seeing that, Papa immediately began shushing her. “No, no you’re not. Don’t cry though. You’ve done enough crying,” he said softly, brushing the hair out of her face, “It made you dehydrated and that’s why you’re in bed. No more tears.”

“What’s...de-dry-dated mean?” she asked.

“ _Dehydrated._ It means there’s not enough water in your body,” he said and turned over to the doctor and spoke some rapid Italian before returning his gaze to her, “We’re going to give you liquids now.”

Her thoughts returned to her nightmare, or at least she hoped it was. “Papa, I-,” she began before he put a finger to her lips.

“Shh, don’t speak principessa,” he cooed, “No more talking.”

The sound of metal squeaking sent a chill down her spine as she looked over at the doctor wheeling a tall metal pole with a sack of what she presumed to be water over to her bedside. “What’s that?” she asked shakily.

No one answered her question as the doctor pulled out something that made her nearly scream if she had the voice to. It was a sharp needle. “No,” she said in a hoarse voice.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Papa shushed, “It’s just a-,”

Vittoria began to shake her head but hardly had the strength to move on her own. Even if she had it in her to struggle, Papa gripped her firmly enough to hold her down. “It won’t hurt,” he lied.

If she were being honest with herself, it didn’t hurt that much. But the sight of the needle terrified her and thus she catastrophized the entire situation. The minute it was in and taped, she immediately made a move to tear it out but Papa grabbed her wrists, barked something in Italian to the doctor and within a minute, she was out cold.

***

The next time she woke up, she felt a whole lot better. Or at least her body did. Her mind and spirit were tired, worn down, and grounded into dust. Vittoria tried to convince herself what happened wasn’t real, that it was just a nightmare but oh no. _Life hates me_. She woke up the same way she felt for a very long time, alone.

Everything returned to her, hitting her at once but this time she had tears to shed and she did what she’d done since October 11th, and cried. What she had done finally started to hit her, _I killed Mr. Bianchi with my thoughts._ She had prayed and God had listened. _I’m a murderer._

Mama’s death hurt her heart, but Signore Bianchi's demise hurt her soul. _Mrs. Bianchi loved me. She’s good and I... I killed her husband._ Then Vittoria had another thought, _I don’t wanna go to hell!_ Ms. Sagesse was so sad, all because of her bad thoughts. “I don’t wanna go to hell!” she screamed.

 _I’ll never see Mama again._ She had the frame of mind to throw up on the floor instead of the bed. She dry heaved the contents onto the floor as if that’d purge her of her perceived sins. Vittoria shut her eyes tight and kneeled on the bed, the mattress cushioning her knees. Her hands clenched together into a position of prayer.

“My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things,” after opening with what she learned in Bible study, she added, “I’m so sorry! I didn't mean to kill him with my thoughts. Please believe me! I’m so so so so sorry!”

 _If I pray, it'll all be better._ Her throat burned, her nose stung, her back ached, and her head was pounding. _My pain is my punishment._ “Please forgive me. Please! I wanna see my Mama again one day!”

 _What if He doesn’t forgive me?_ Her teeth started chattering and her whole body started shaking. It was a wonder she could finish her prayer, “Our Savior Jesus Christ su-suffered and died for...for us. In his...his name, my God, have mercy.”

Vittoria crossed herself and opened her eyes. _It’s not enough._ She thought to say a prayer for the dead, but she hadn’t learned all of the lines yet. _I hope this is enough,_ “Please send Mr. Bianchi to heaven. And please let him tell Mama hi,” she paused, “Wait, is...is...that selfish?”

She thought for a moment but moved on. “Send him there, please! He’s very nice sometimes and buys me lots of stuff!” and here came the part that she didn’t want to add, “Also please forgive him for hitting me.”

Viittoria thought that part was a little unconvincing and probably not the best words she could use to speak of the dead, but good enough. “Um...in your son Jesus Christ’s name, Amen.”

She crossed herself once again, but it didn’t help. Nothing would help. _It’s not enough._ “I-I didn’t want him...want him to get hu-hurt. Please,” she sobbed, “I’m…I’m sorry I said I _hated_ you. I didn’t mean-.” 

The door banged open and her Papa appeared in the doorframe. His sudden arrival caused her to shriek loudly, though the volume didn’t seem to bother him. “Vittoria,” he began worriedly.

“Pa...Papa,” she cried.

Papa sighed, “You’re awake now.”

The way he breathed and said the words gave her the impression that he was a tad disappointed. To be honest he was. The sedative was supposed to keep her out for another few hours and in that time he had hoped to get some sleep. “Where...what...Papa,” she stumbled over her words.

“I heard you screaming. Are you alright?”

“Where…” she began, not sure what she was trying to say or ask.

“You’re home now principessa. You’re safe,” he said as he walked over to sit next to her.

 _You’re home....that means I was at..._ “Was it all real Papa?” she asked, her voice quivering.

“Yes. Signore Bianchi is dead,” he said, not bothering to sugar coat it, “He died in a terrible car accident a few nights ago.”

She averted her gaze and whispered, “No, Papa. I killed him.”

Vittoria had no idea why she admitted her guilt. The confession just slipped out. “No, you didn’t,” he said tensely, “A car accident did.”

“I caused it,” she croaked, “I thought bad thoughts...bad thoughts about Mr. Bianchi and then...and then his car exploded.”

“Vittoria,” he sighed impatiently, “I’m tired so you’re going to listen very carefully to what I have to say. Look at me.”

Her red eyes obediently stared into his blue ones. “A _car accident_ killed him. You are eight years old and you have no divine power to kill people with your thoughts. Believing you have that power is sinful.”

“But...God listened to me!” she said loudly, “I thought ‘ _I hope you die_ ’ and he did!”

His ruby lips thinned in annoyance. “Do not raise your voice at me,” he scolded, “You thought a bad thought, which is a sin. You thought you were as powerful as God, which is a sin. But nothing you did killed him. Is that understood?”

 _I really want to believe him._ “I...I didn’t kill him, right?”

“Of course not,” he agreed, pleased that she thought his word was the undeniable truth.

She sighed, a little relieved but still not fully believing it. _I should still ask the priest…_ , “Vittoria,” he said slowly, “Why did you want him to die?”

She bit her lip and looked away nervously. It was wrong to speak ill of the dead. She hated it when people did it to Mama. “I’m not in the mood for your shyness tonight. Tell me what happened now, otherwise, you’ll add more spankings to your thirty-seven in the morning.”

Her mouth fell open, “I’m still being punished?!”

“Vittoria, I keep my word. Tell me now,” he said firmly.

“But Papa!” she exclaimed.

“Thirty-eight,” he added, “Do you want to add more?”

Her lower lip wobbled but her nervous state took over and did her best to plead her case. She was at forty-five spanks until she gave up when he added that he’d start doing the same to Snowbell, who out of everyone was okay. He told her that her poor kitty had been fed like he promised and she was doing just fine. Well, that's what he _said_ and who was she to question it?

“He...he was going to leave to do some business and I started asking, well I started to ask him,” she stumbled over her words, “I tried to ask him where you were and when you were coming home.”

She stopped for a moment. _If I tell him I screamed at them, then he’ll take Mr. Bianchi’s side._ Vittoria bit her lip and averted her eyes, unaware that she was giving a clear tell that she was about to lie, “And then he just hit me.”

Papa frowned, not that she saw and it was a good thing she didn’t because the flicker of hot emotion shooting across his eyes would’ve terrified her. It would’ve terrified her to see his reaction that she _dared_ to lie to him. She heard him take a deep breath, “Then that settles it, I’ll press charges against Signora Bianchi and their children.”

 _Press charges?_ “What...what does that mean?” she asked, looking up at him confused.

“That means I’ll have the law punish them for what their father did,” he said, shaking his head.

“But it’s not their fault!” she said panicked, her red-rimmed eyes growing wide.

Papa looked at her sympathetically. “Maybe not, but a lesson needs to be learned,” he said with hidden meaning, “And if their children need to be the ones who learn it, so be it. That’s how things are done here in Italy.”

Her young age and trusting nature fooled her into believing his lies. “No, no,” she cried, “Please don’t punish them!”

Papa shook his head, like he was truly sorry it had to come to this. _I can’t let them get in trouble! It was all my fault!_ “Violence against children cannot be tolerated. It’s a very serious crime,” he said sorrowfully, “It carries a sentence of up to twenty years in prison.”

 _Twenty...twenty years...no!_ Vittoria began to sob. _I can’t let that happen. I have to confess._ “But it’s not their fault...I…I was the one who...was naughty. I...I **had** to be punished.”

Papa gave her a look of mock confusion, “I don’t understand. Didn’t you say he hit you for no reason?”

When her eyes met his, she knew he knew. _How does he even know? Does he...does he have magic powers?_ Vittoria’s mouth opened and closed, her confession sitting at the back of her tongue and it took all of her courage not to swallow it. _Don’t dishonor the dead._ “I uh…” she started slowly before her voice turned weepy, “I yelled at them.”

The last part was quietly said. “You yelled at them,” Papa stated, more than asked, “So you were misbehaving.”

“You were gone for so long!” she cried, wiping the tears from her face, “And...and they weren’t paying attention. They wouldn’t, they wouldn’t answer my questions!”

She really was mad at that. _All I wanted was to call Papa_. “And that gives you an excuse to misbehave?” Papa asked darkly.

 _Crap._ “N..no,” she said in a small voice, shrinking in on herself.

“So you went against my instructions while I was gone, then you lied to me and by doing so, dishonored the dead. Vittoria, I don’t like it when people lie to me, especially my own child,” he said darkly.

 _He knew I was lying...just like God. Papa, does he know everything too? Oh no…_ “I...I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Really, I didn’t!”

“But you did _hurt_ people. With your thoughts and with your words. From your lips to God’s ears, Vittoria. He’s always watching, always listening,” he said while implying, _just like me,_ “Your thoughts may have not caused his death, but the Lord responds to actions. I can’t speak for the Lord, but you’ve disappointed me today. You hurt so many people.”

Vittoria started sobbing. _I’m a monster! I’m a monster and I’m going to hell!_ “I’m,” she gasped, “I’m sorry Papa! I didn’t...did...n’t want Signore Bianchi to die!”

 _I didn’t really want it._ “What’s done is done. He’s gone and he can’t come back,” Papa said stoically.

 _I don’t get it! Did I kill him? What...I don’t…_ Her wails could be heard throughout their mansion, not that anyone else was there to listen. _God, I’m sorry! Please don’t send me to hell!_ “I doubt you’re going to hell, Vittoria,” Papa said in a frustrated tone.

 _No. It feels like I’m already there._ She hadn’t felt so sick, so miserable since she had to do those math problems. _I wanna sink into the Earth and disappear._ Her wails quieted down after about half an hour, impressing her father with her healthy set of lungs. She found comfort in his flowery cologne and from the warmth in his chest, though she’d never know that he chose to console her that night simply because he was tired and wanted to get a decent night’s rest, which would be nearly impossible if she kept up her sobbing.

Finally, her sobs had almost disappeared, turning into painful hiccups that echoed through her aching chest. Papa was humming a soothing tune and brushing the hair from her face, “Tomorrow we’ll go over your punishments,” she didn’t miss that there was an ‘s’, meaning more than one punishment, “Tonight, you’ll rest.”

She was too tired to protest and really, what could she ever do but obey him? “Yes, Papa.”

“It’s time for you to go back to sleep,” he whispered.

“But I’m not tired,” she explained.

If what he said was true, and she believed it was, she had been asleep since the night of the accident. Despite her meltdown, her tears hadn’t worn her out. “I wasn’t asking that,” he said tensely, “Lie down.”

Papa was tired, that was noticeable enough. She could tell the last remnants of his poise and posture were waning but she was at an age where even though she could see his evident exhaustion, she couldn’t empathize with it to the point of following directions and allowing him a few hours of peaceful slumber. “Please Papa, I don’t want to go to sleep,” she mumbled as she lied down.

 _What if I have a nightmare?_ He pulled the covers over her shoulders. “Just try,” he sighed.

“I don’t wanna be alone,” she whined.

He had already left her alone with strangers and she didn’t want to be apart from him anymore, “Can I sleep with you?”

Papa breathed through his nose and shut his eyes. _Please say yes._ “You have to be quiet and close your eyes Vittoria,” he conceded, “Do you understand?”

Vittoria nodded furiously and held her arms up, ready for him to carry her to his bed. Papa softly wrapped his arms around her and took her into his room and gently put her on his bed. She quickly snuggled underneath the covers and watched him slide in next to her. The minute his head hit the pillow, his eyes were closed. It only took three seconds until she became bored. “Papa?” she whispered, “Are you awake?”

 _Maybe I can get him to tell me a story._ Papa didn’t answer though as he evenly breathed in and out. _Great._ “Papa,” she whispered a little louder, “I’m bored.”

No answer. _He’s not asleep. You can’t fall asleep that fast!_ “Papa,” she moaned annoyingly, shaking his shoulder.

Papa finally groaned, “What did I say?”

His voice was sleepy. “Papa, I’m scared to go to sleep,” she whined.

At the moment, she didn’t want to be in the dark or allow herself to relive the nightmare. She remembered the nights right after she found Mama and it had been bad. Nightmares every night, waking up screaming bloody murder to the point that the Marks’ had a doctor give her tiny white pills to make her calm and sleepy. _They tasted gross_ . She didn’t know what the doctor gave her, but it was no white pill. _Small mercies._ Papa exhaled like a bull and groaned, before pulling on the string of the lamp next to him.

Vittoria shrunk into herself as she saw him tense, “Stay right there. I’ll be right back.”

Papa was out of the room so suddenly, having ignored her protests and questions entirely. Vittoria held the covers up to her chest, waiting for her Papa to come back, listening for his footsteps. The tears stopped brimming her eyes when she saw him re-enter, carrying a small spray bottle. Her head tilted adorably. “What’s that?” she asked curiously.

“This,” Papa smiled and held it up like one of those commercial people, “Is an old Italian family remedy. It prevents nightmares.”

Vittoria gasped, “Is it...magic?”

Papa didn’t confirm nor deny the fact. “This almost guarantees you won’t have nightmares,” he said.

Her eyes lit up. _People should sell this stuff! I’d buy a ton of it!_ “Really?” she whispered hopefully.

Papa nodded and smiled, “Si principessa. Now close your eyes.”

Vittoria did so immediately and listened as the spray bottle blew its magic contents in the air while Papa said magic words, “Brutti sogni, brutti sogni, vai via.”

 _I can feel the magic!_ The sweet-smelling mist sprayed throughout the room, some of the droplets landing on her face. “Okay principessa,” Papa whispered as he moved around to get into the bed, “You shouldn’t have any nightmares tonight.”

Her smile was so innocent and believing. A calmness, that didn’t quite mask her grief and worry, settled in her chest and she managed to yawn. “Now, you do have to close your eyes and keep them closed for the next few minutes, otherwise it won’t work very well,” Papa explained.

Marilyn nodded in understanding and shut her eyes tight. She couldn’t see the satisfied smile spread across her father’s face, relieved that she would finally fall asleep so he too could rest. She could tell he turned off the lights from the chain of the lamp and her surroundings growing darker. Papa pulled her close to him and she nuzzled close to his chest. “Sweet dreams principessa,” he whispered and kissed her head.

“Sweet dreams Papa,” she mumbled.

She’d only know of the magic and heroic deed he had performed that night. _Papa’s a hero._ Vittoria would never know that all he had really done was filled a spray bottle with water and a drop of lavender and called it a “ _Secret Italian family recipe_.” But that was enough to soothe her fears and calm her nerves. And even better, despite everything that had happened, she had no bad dreams that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor kid. She can't catch a break 😢


	25. When Will It Stop Hurting?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn prepares for Sig. Bianchi's funeral, which brings back memories of her mother's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really bad with the summary this time

Papa decided to be merciful the next day and excused her from her spanking. Mainly because he had seen that she looked so broken down and guilty that there was no need to actually punish her. When she had been moving to sit on his lap, he stopped her and sighed tiredly, “You’ve learned your lesson, haven’t you?”

She nodded numbly and quietly responded with, “Yes, Papa.”

That was seemingly enough for him and she spent her days being an obedient little girl. The nights after Sig. Bianchi’s death was easier than the days. Vittoria found herself surprised that she was actually _excited_ to go to bed. _When I go to bed, I don’t have to think about or see what happened._ At night, before he tucked her in (to his bed) Papa would use the magic water to prevent her nightmares. During the day, however, she suffered. She was trying, _really_ trying to be good especially after feeling her guilt consume her for the severity of her sinful thoughts. 

Vittoria’s classes had resumed, which might have proved to be a good distraction if she had the frame of mind to focus on it. Typically she didn’t care if she pleased Mr. Lurch or not, because _there's no pleasing that man_ , but apparently her performance wasn’t up to Signore Venturi’s standard. It didn’t take her long to break down in his class when he sternly admonished her and then she proceeded to feel terribly guilty when he (and Mr. Lurch) in a fit of frustration requested time off, at least until after the funeral. Papa wasn’t pleased with their request, but granted it, because “ _Vittoria will be alright after the funeral._ ”

Vittoria never considered herself “alright” after her Mama’s funeral, so _why will Mr. Bianchi be any different?_ Ms. Sagesse wasn't coming by, because she had to help Signora with planning the funeral. _Funerals are a lot of work. Mama’s was a lot._ She wondered if people knew how much work was left to do when they died. _No one really plans to do it_ , she thought before a dark thought struck her, _except Mama_.

Vittoria was quite certain Mr. Bianchi would never _choose_ to leave his wife, nor she him. _But Mama chose to leave me_. A part of her grew bitter. _What was so bad about me? Papa likes me! Sg.na Sagesse likes me! Snowbell, Sg.ra Bianchi, Sg.ra Giordano...why did she_ ** _want_** _to leave me?_

Vittoria never felt like being angry at her Mama, because a bad taste of guilt always followed. She always made it a part of her Sunday service to always light a candle for her Mama and grandparents and would light an extra if she had a bad thought about the woman who raised her. _She left me with nothing. No one_. Aside from her meltdown in front of Papa, she never admitted out loud her occasional resentment towards her mother. _It’s a sin_.

It was one of the frequent things she confessed to during confession, usually crying when she told the priest. Vittoria had begged her Papa to take her to confession after she told him it was easier to love him more than Mama.

_“I loved her so much,” she cried to the priest, “And she...sometimes it felt like she didn’t love me. So I get mad. And I think mean things. I don’t say them though! Because so many people are meanies to her.”_

_The priest remained silent as she continued, “I always stook up for her, cause no one else will. But...I still think bad things sometimes like them. I have lots of bad thoughts sometimes…”_

Mama made it hard for Vittoria to defend her, _but I do it anyways_. She’d always love her Mama, but with that love came a creeping resentment that she couldn’t push down. _I wish you didn’t leave me_. _I wish you loved me enough to stay. I loved you._

***

“Lift up your arms,” Papa said as he held up a black funeral dress for her.

_It looks like the one I wore to Mama’s funeral._ “I don’t like funerals,” she said numbly.

“No one does,” he replied as he helped her put her arms through the sleeves.

She supposed that was true. Vittoria had never been to a funeral before her Mama’s. Yes, people had died, but she and Mama didn’t go because they didn’t know the person very well or didn’t like them. _You shouldn’t go if you don’t know them or like them. Then you have to lie_. If there was one thing Vittoria hated, it was fake people. _At least Mr. Sawyer knows I don’t like him and I know he doesn’t like me_. She’d rather say she disliked someone to their face than lie and talk bad about them behind their back. She remembered hearing what people _really_ thought of her and Mama when they believed she wasn’t around. _I hated every moment of it..._

_Marilyn Winslow hated Rodney Lord. She absolutely despised that little rat-faced weasel more than she despised anything else. Currently, she was limping to the office alone, a paper towel on her knee to stop her wound from bleeding, but every movement made it feel worse because those were the parts she had to flex. He had pushed her off the swings at recess and despite her explaining what happened, she was deemed too emotional and sent off to the office by the aide._ ** _He didn’t even get in trouble_** _._

_Her sniffling was quiet, mainly because there was no one around to make it louder for. All she wanted was someone to feel bad for her, ask her what happened, and comfort her._ **_I want someone to believe me...but no one ever does._ ** _It was this one event that landed her into a private conversation that she was one hundred percent sure she was never meant to overhear, but naturally, she snooped when she heard her name sound out from the faculty room. The volume made it evident that they were talking_ **_about_ ** _her, not to her._

_“I had Marilyn! Such a sweet girl” cooed a voice that she recognized as Mrs. Palmer._

_Mrs. Palmer was her kindergarten teacher who always made her smile._ **_She tells me I’m smart even though it’s not true! I miss kindergarten_ ** _. “Me too, oh what an angel,” agreed Mrs. Duncan, “Marilyn’s so polite.”_

**_Mrs. Duncan_ ** _, Marilyn thought dreamily,_ **_she’s so nice and pretty_ ** _. Mrs. Duncan would hug her when she cried. Her mood was good, until she heard Mr. Morgan’s voice, “Yes. Most of the time she’s good, but she isn’t very attentive.”_

_She didn’t know what the word attentive meant, but given his tone and the use of the word “but”,_ **_haha butt_ ** _, Marilyn could tell he wasn’t complimenting her._ **_Rude_ ** _. Mrs. Palmer hummed, while Marilyn stepped closer but remained hidden. “Marilyn is...well yes sometimes that would happen but usually it’s because she doesn’t understand,” Mrs. Palmer defended._

**_That’s so true!_** _Mrs. Palmer was always so understanding and patient with her, and let her take a break sometimes when she got too frustrated. “Is that the problem you came here for?” asked Mrs. Duncan._

**_He has a problem with me?_** _Marilyn had no idea why! She thought herself to be quite polite and agreeable, and never one to cause trouble unless Rodney acted out first._ ** _And he always does it first!_** _Her throbbing knee was a painful reminder of that fact. “She’ll never learn anything if she doesn’t pay attention. I keep trying to contact her mother, but-,” he began before Marilyn heard the two women hiss._

_“Oh she’ll never answer,” Mrs. Palmer said bitterly._

_Marilyn’s heart stilled._ **_It always comes back to Mama._ ** _The tone of Mrs. Palmer’s voice was surprising because she never once spoke ill of Marilyn’s Mama in front of her. That’s what she liked about her kindergarten teacher because_ **_everyone spoke mean about Mama._ **

_“Trying to get_ **_that_ ** _woman interested in her daughter’s education is like trying to get to the moon,” Mrs. Duncan said snottily._

**_Not you too Mrs. Duncan!_ ** _Marilyn’s eyes beaded with more tears, mindful of the tickling sensation of it rolling down her cheeks._ **_Why does everyone hate her?_ **

_“Well, I think it’d be easier to get to the moon,” Mrs. Palmer corrected, “But no, her mother doesn’t care.”_

**_Yes, she does! Mama cares!_** _Mama always made sure she did her homework when she got home. No, Mama didn't care if it was wrong nor did she help Marilyn,_ ** _but she still made sure I did it! They always make her sound like the worstest mommy in the world._** _Marilyn’s heart clenched in grief._

_“I can’t find her father’s number,” the man admitted._

**_That’s because,_** _“She doesn’t have one,” scoffed one of the women._

_“Marilyn doesn’t know who he is,” she heard a voice that definitely belonged to Mrs. Palmer._

**_That’s not my fault._** _Marilyn could hear the smirk in her old teacher’s voice and her face flushed hot with anger and embarrassment._ ** _They make Mama sound like a trumpet._** _“I doubt her mother even knows who he is,” Mrs. Duncan said snottily._

**_Damn you Mrs. Duncan!_** _Her sweaty palms clenched into tiny fists and her passive lips turned into a stern frown that mimicked the frustrated and angry one her Mama wore. She never looked more like Mama than when she was angry._ ** _Why do they think they can be so mean? Sally O’Connor doesn’t have a daddy! Why aren’t they mean to her and her mama?_** _The big difference between the Winslows and the O’Connors was that Mr. O’Connor had died in a car crash after being happily married to his wife, whereas Mama had never been happily married. Or at least that’s what everyone else believed._

_“We go to church with them, you know?” Mrs. Palmer added, “Patience never has an answer to that question. I don’t think she’s ever been married.”_

_Marilyn was certain that Mama had been married to her Papa because Marilyn couldn’t imagine how she’d deal with it if she weren’t._ **_Babies out of marriage are bad! And I’m not bad!_ **

_“Then of course she takes advantage of the church,” Mrs. Duncan sniffed, “Always using them for babysitting. I remember you telling me that she left the girl past closing without even explaining why when she came back.”_

_Yes, Marilyn actually remembered that. The church daycare closed at 5 PM and Marilyn was there until 8 PM with Pastor Marks’ wife. She had been sobbing uncontrollably, believing her Mama had abandoned her without even saying goodbye. Marilyn had been so relieved when she had seen her Mama come back that she couldn’t even be bothered to be angry, but Mrs. Marks was. Mrs. Marks had a subtle anger that you’d never be able to tell existed unless you knew her very well. Not that Marilyn noticed as she was too busy burying her face into her Mama’s tummy. Mama didn’t even explain or say she was sorry, but Marilyn never expected that._

_“Emilie Marks was quite upset at that, not that she’d admit it. A saintly woman. But yes, she uses the church daycare way too much,” Mrs. Palmer shook her head, “You know when it’s supposed to be her job to take care of the child.”_

**_Mama has three jobs!_ ** _Marilyn’s nose stung._ **_She works so hard!_ ** _“Well, if she’s a single mother then she can’t stay home,” Mr. Morgan finally spoke up._

_“You know what the worst part is? She doesn’t_ **_have_ ** _to be. My husband told me that several men at the church asked her on a date and would_ **_happily_ ** _take care of her and Marilyn, but you know what she said?” Mrs. Duncan asked nastily._

_“No. Every. Single. Time,” Mrs. Palmer finished, “She hates men.”_

_“As in…” Mr. Morgan didn’t finish his sentence, but disgust laced his tone._

_“I thought so too and called social services once,” Mrs. Duncan admitted, “Nothing came of it.”_

**_It was her._ ** _Marilyn’s heart broke._ **_She tried to tear up my family. Take me from my Mama._ ** _Marilyn was going to tattle when she got home. “Her attitude is appalling and is affecting Marilyn. She always picks fights with the boys, hates them,” Mr. Morgan confessed, “She always argues with Rodney.”_

_“I think that’s normal at her age though,” Mrs. Palmer said defensively, “None of the girls I’ve taught ever liked boys.”_

_“Well I hope she grows out of it and doesn’t turn out to be a…” Mrs. Duncan inhaled sharply, “A dyke.”_

_EXCUSE ME? Marilyn was beyond offended._ **_I’m not a homo!_ ** _Her quiet sobs turned louder._ **_How can they think that?_ **

_“This, this is why I hate these women who think they can be independent,” Mr. Morgan growled, “Who try to have jobs instead of staying with their families and raising their children. When my wife got pregnant, do you know what she did? She quit her job like it was expected of her.”_

_“The husband and the children are always the ones who suffer,” Mrs. Duncan added, “Or in this case, just the child.”_

_“What did social services say when you called them?” Mr. Morgan asked._

_“They said there wasn’t anything they could do. Miss Winslow is a disagreeable person, but Marilyn is in no real harm nor is she starving,” Mrs. Duncan sighed, “Poor dear. It aches my heart to know that she won’t amount to anything with a mother like that.”_

**_You...you said you believed in me. That I’d do great things._ ** _Her heart broke for the first time, knowing her teacher lied and had never believed in her._ **_I wanna die. I’m a waste of a human being._ **

_“With God’s grace, hopefully, she’ll find a good husband,” Mrs. Palmer said softly, “If she can find guidance from a man, then I think she’ll be somewhat stable.”_

_“Really, marriage will be the one and only thing that’ll be best for the poor child,” Mrs. Duncan concluded._

_The betrayal hurt her in ways she never could’ve imagined. This, this was what they thought of her family. When they came to the funeral and offered their condolences, she ignored them._ **_All people do is lie._ **

“People pretend they care,” Vittoria said bitterly, breaking out her memory and remembering the people who attended her Mama’s funeral, “They wanna seem good.”

For once, no tears came to her eyes at the painful memory. Just a surge of bitterness and anger. _I trusted them. I’m done crying. Lying is a sin_. Vittoria didn’t know how true her words were, especially to her father. “Sometimes that’s important,” Papa reasoned as he moved around her to tie her sash into a bow.

She supposed he had a point. _If people who didn’t like Mr. Bianchi didn’t pretend to like him, then they may hurt Sg.ra Bianchi and Ms. Sagesse’s feelings! But no, it hurts worser when you see how they_ ** _actually_** _feel._ “People pretended to like Mama at her funeral, but I know they didn’t,” she said bitterly, “I always heard them say bad things about her.”

“Vittoria,” Papa said clearly to get her attention.

“Huh?” she asked, looking up into her Papa’s eyes.

She just now realized that she was fully dressed in her black dress. “Be polite and don’t cause any trouble, even if you don’t believe some of the adults,” he said sternly, gripping her arms tightly, though not tight enough to leave a bruise.

_I know that much._ “I promise Papa,” she agreed tonelessly.

Papa nodded and finished by clasping the diamond cross around her neck. It felt heavy, like a material symbol of the grief she was carrying. She wore it all the time now. Vittoria never had expensive things before and if she wanted any “nice” jewelry, she’d make it for herself. _I like making things. I’m not hurting anyone when I do that._

With her new art supplies, which were hard to actually pick up as it painfully reminded her of the Bianchi's generosity that she felt she didn’t deserve and the grim reminder of that day, she made Mrs. Bianchi a cross bracelet. Papa suggested she buy the woman something if she really wanted to, but she said “ _Signora likes my homemade stuff. I wanna give her something she likes._ ” 

“There. All done,” Papa said with a ceremonial twist of a lacy black ribbon in her hair.

Vittoria looked at herself in the mirror and thought she looked much older than the last time she went to a funeral. _I wish I could go back in time._ Vittoria always felt older than she was, but in these past few months, she felt she had aged a century. _A century is one hundred years_! 

Vittoria numbly took her father’s hand and followed him to the front and all things considered, she was okay, until she saw his car. Her heart sped up, the familiar nausea settled in her stomach, and her breathing grew shallow. _No, no, no…_ “No Papa,” she croaked, “No, no, no!”

“Shhh, I know it’s scary but we have to face our fears,” he shushed.

If he could get her to the car without _much_ of a fuss, he’d consider the day a success. “We’re gonna die! It’ll blow up!”

“No, no it won’t,” he cooed.

“Can’t…” she breathed painfully, “we...walk?”

“You want to walk twenty-five kilometers to the church?” he asked.

_What are kilometers? I don’t even know what that means!_ “Papa, please!” she begged.

“Would it make you feel better if I checked the car?” he offered, raising his eyebrows.

“I don’t want you to!” she said with a shallow breath, “You could get hurt!”

_If something happened to my Papa, I’d die._ “Well, who else will check?”

“We can call Sawyer,” she thought helpfully.

“Vittoria-,” he began in a stern voice.

“Oh, he’s in America,” she remembered.

Papa sighed, “Stay here. I will check and it’ll be fine.”

“Be careful Papa!” she hollered.

She could hear the blood rushing in her head as she watched her Papa inspect the car. There were birds chirping, a breeze whistling by, and the pops and clicks of Papa opening and closing the hood and trunk but she heard none of it. Vittoria felt light-headed, out of her own body as she nervously watched him inspect their vehicle. What she once considered a carriage was now a coffin, at least in her eyes. Papa theatrically nodded his head at parts of the car to convince her it was safe and after he thoroughly checked the car, he called out, “All safe!”

“It blew up when he turned it on,” she added.

Papa sighed, “I made sure it wouldn’t before I turn it on. Time to get into the car principessa.”

He opened the door but she didn’t make a move, feeling as if her limbs were rooted to the spot. _He checked it. You trust him. Move your legs. Get in._ “Come on principessa, you don’t want to keep Mrs. Bianchi waiting. I know she’ll definitely want to see you today. She _needs_ you,” he said with a smile.

_Don’t be selfish. She’s given you so much love. Return the favor_. Just that thought alone made her legs move stiffly towards the car. _I feel like I’m walking to an expectation._ Vittoria walked with a dark acceptance and took her Papa’s helpful hand as she climbed in.

The smooth brown leather that was usually so comfortable felt cold against the back of her legs, which had begun to sweat and seep through her stockings that were now sticking on the seat. The car door that closed normally, sounded louder and like a slam to her. All of her senses were tuned higher than they have ever been. _Why is there ringing in my ears? Why is there-_ The engine revved to life and she gave a little scream, shutting her eyes tightly before Papa spoke softly, “It’s alright dolcezza. See?”

Her breaths were shaky, her teeth began to grind against each other, and her fingernails dug into the seat leaving marks behind. _Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name…_ the car began to pull out of their driveway and she continued to whisper her prayers and clutch her rosary beads tightly. She tried to focus on her prayers, on anything but her troubled breaths or erratic heartbeat. _Please keep me safe on this journey, please keep my Papa safe on this journey. Jesus, please keep me safe on this journey, please keep my Papa safe on this journey…_

Despite her rosary being new, courtesy of Sg.ra Lisi for her birthday, she had already begun to wear the light blue paint off of it. There was scarcely a time now where it wasn’t in her hands or around her neck. As she was hyper-aware of everything happening around her, she was extremely conscious and startled at their slow stop. “We’re here,” Papa announced.

Vittoria had hardly realized her eyes had been closed the entire time and when she opened them, she saw spots in her vision that were bright but fading away. _Thank you, Jesus. In Jesus Christ’s name, Amen._ Vittoria crossed herself and exhaled, but no relief came from it. Her fingers were sore from the strong grip she had on her beads and she rubbed them together, focusing on the sensation of the smooth round wood. “I’m so proud of you Vittoria,” Papa smiled, “You didn’t shed a single tear. What a brave girl you are.”

She did her best to give him a smile, but it was weak. “Grazie Papa,” she said politely.

Her heart thumped violently against her chest. “You may cry, not loudly, but you may cry at the funeral. It’s expected and it’ll be okay,” Papa said kindly as he removed his seatbelt.

Vittoria nodded obediently. “Should I give Mrs. Bianchi her bracelet when I see her?” she asked, suddenly remembering her homemade gift.

“Not in the church, but later,” he said as he opened his door.

For the brief moment, she was alone, she instantly felt all of the tension within her body. Her chest, face, eyes, nose, legs, and heart. _When will it stop hurting?_ Vittoria was tired of being sad. It felt like she was sad and scared all the time. _Other kids aren’t so sad_. She numbly waited for Papa to open the door for her and like an obedient princess, she slipped her hand into his and stepped out. 

The large church towered over her as an overwhelming amount of mourners entered. _Not so many people came to Mama’s._ She frowned sadly at the memory. _Don’t think of that right now. It’s showtime._ Vittoria smoothed her black dress, _wrinkles just won’t do_ , and with a painful shaky breath, she let Papa lead her into the cathedral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be the funeral and familiar faces will reappear!


	26. The Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilyn attends Mr. Bianchi's funeral and runs into some familiar faces.

The funeral was long. It felt longer than Mama’s and any church service she had ever been to. She sat in the second row with her Papa and right behind a gap that gave her a perfect view of Mr. Bianchi’s coffin. Mama’s had been simple, but like Mr. Bianchi, his was extravagant. It was a shiny black coffin with gold trim, and she almost smiled because _of course, it’s gold. It makes no sense why they’d pay so much for something that no one will see after today anyways_ ! Chills ran down her spine, _he’s in there. Forever. He’s never coming out_ . _I wanna throw up, but there’s nothing left in my tummy._

Vittoria was also unfortunate enough to be seated behind the weeping widow, which was the most frustrating and heart-breaking part of the service. _I just wanna give her a hug_ . It was a difficult day and she had almost sighed with relief at the end of the priest’s sermon, but then the cold reality hit her. _Oh my gosh, we still have to go to the party_. “It’s not a party, it’s a funeral reception,” Papa corrected on their drive there.

Which put her exactly where she was now, standing silently and impatiently as they waited their turn to give their condolences to the Bianchi’s. “There wasn’t a line at Mama’s funeral,” she pouted, “We could just go up.”

It sat in the back of her father’s tongue, clawing to come out and say _there was no line because no one liked your mother,_ but he held it in. “Just be patient Vittoria,” Papa sighed.

Vittoria began to twirl the cross bracelet she made Mrs. Bianchi around her small fingers, enjoying the friction as it spun around quickly. She’d never been a touchy child, but lately, she always had something in her hands. “Do you think she’ll like it?” she asked.

Her voice was small. _I hope she smiles_. “I’m sure she will but if she doesn’t smile or show that she’s happy, please know it’s because this is a very sad time for her right now,” Papa explained.

Vittoria sighed. _I didn’t like people being nice to me after Mama died….but they were trying to replace her. I could never replace Mr. Bianchi._ She giggled, _he was too fat and bald_. “Vittoria, no smiling,” Papa admonished.

His tone immediately had her frowning again. _Was that a mean thing to think? I wasn’t trying to be mean. You know that? Right, God?_ As her thoughts sent her somewhere else, her finger sent the bracelet flying off. “Vittoria,” Papa said sternly.

“Can I go get it? I see it!” she asked.

_It’s Signora’s present_. “Hustle,” he said and let her slip from his hand.

Vittoria walked swiftly and made her eyes rake over the room, and finally spotted the string bracelet. As she reached down to pick it up, a pair of shiny black shoes came into her line of vision and a well-manicured hand plucked the bracelet from the floor before she could even extend her hand. “Is this yours, signorina?” cooed a familiar voice.

Vittoria instantly recognized it and looked up with fear plastered over her face. His quirked mouth turned into that Cheshire cat grin that she hated so much. “I...I could’ve gotten it,” she said in a small nervous voice and nearly recoiled when he took her small hand and helped her straighten up.

He tutted, “Well, consider it a polite gesture to spare you the labor.”

_Gesture? Spare? Labor?_ “I um...don’t know what some of those words mean,” she admitted.

His smile wavered just a bit and he seemed a tad annoyed, but she was an eight-year-old child whose favorite big words were “particularly” and “certainly”, not that she knew what they meant. “Just consider it an act of service,” he rephrased, “Can I get a thank you?”

“Um...thank you Signore Costa,” she said, reaching out for the bracelet but he held it tightly.

“This is lovely,” he complimented, “Where did you get such a fine piece of jewelry?”

If it were anyone else, she’d be flattered but this was Creepy Costa so she settled for being annoyed. “I made it,” she said with a firm voice, “For Mrs. Bianchi. It’s her present. Can I have it back now?”

_It’s not yours._ “Well what if I want one?” he smiled.

“Then you have to pay a gazillion dollars,” she said flatly.

He dropped his jaw dramatically in shock, “A _gazillion_ dollars?”

“Uh-huh. Mrs. Bianchi gets it for free, cause she’s my favoritest person ever,” she said, stressing the woman’s place in her heart to annoy the man.

“Angel, you wound me. And I’m sure your father wouldn’t like to hear that,” he tutted.

“Her father wouldn’t like to hear _what_?” a deep voice asked.

A firm hand clamped onto her shoulder, making her knees nearly buckle from the weight. _Papa,_ she looked up gratefully. He was smiling, but it was the smile he put on for _showtime_ so she knew he was faking it. _Good. Mr. Costa doesn’t deserve_ _a_ ** _real_** _smile._ “Leo Angelino,” he gasped, “It’s been too long.”

The two men embraced, but given Papa’s posture, she knew he resented every minute of it. _Not long enough,_ his face said. “You’re right. Life has just kept us so busy,” Papa laughed off.

“Of course, you’ve got this little angel to look after now. She’s such a good girl, I’m jealous,” he said, his snaky eyes glimmering, “Care to share?”

Papa laughed again and then in a dead voice said, “No.”

The smile never left his face. “What a shame,” Costa tutted.

“What were you two talking about?” Papa asked, pretending to keep up the good-nature.

“Where I could get one of these lovely bracelets,” he said holding up _her_ bracelet, “But your daughter very much likes to deny me the things I want.”

Vittoria glowered at him. _Asshole_. “I never knew her to deny anything,” he said, eyeing her briefly.

_Am I in trouble?_ “She denied me a song from her perfect little voice. I’m sure she inherited your talent for the skill, so I was _quite_ disappointed,” he complained, his beady eyes taunting her. 

_Tattletale._ “You’ve met my daughter before?” Papa asked.

_Sadly._ He gasped. “Oh yes,” he smiled, “You’ve really been hiding such a gem.”

_Thank you for that Papa_. She wished she had been hidden from the man a little longer. “She’s precious,” Papa said tonelessly.

“A bit shy though,” he said as he stared at her deeply before pleasantly adding, “Well I suppose all the best women are.”

“She’s eight. She’s not a woman yet,” Papa corrected.

“Hmm, I suppose,” Costa chuckled.

“There’s no _supposing_ ,” Papa reaffirmed.

Papa’s tone could barely conceal its anger, and his eyes screeched, _I’ll behead you in your sleep and burn your body._ Nevertheless, he did what he did best and kept smiling, “When did you two acquaint yourselves?”

“We met the day Mr. Bianchi died,” she revealed quickly, and given Creepy Costa’s face, he did not like that she revealed that piece of information.

“You met my uncle that day?” came an airy voice.

Vittoria turned around and exclaimed, “Ms. Sagesse!”

Her smile was a little too big considering the setting, but she had dearly missed her teacher and immediately went to wrap her arms around the woman. Sg.na Sagesse hugged her softly, but it was quick and she didn’t look at Vittoria once. _I hope she’s not mad at me._

Costa tutted. “Regrettably yes. Such a shame the day I met Vittoria was marred by that tragedy. Again, I’m sorry for your family’s loss.”

_You don’t_ **_sound_ ** _sorry._ She looked up at her Papa and she saw something cross his eyes that sent chills down her spine. “Thank you,” Ms. Sagesse said plainly before turning to Papa and her, “My aunt would very much like to see you now, so if you’ll follow me.”

_She’s like a hero! Maybe she can be my sidekick._

“Good day Sig. Costa,” Papa said.

Papa began to tug her hand but she resisted, “Wait!”

The adults looked at her and she took her hand from her father’s, turning to stare at Mr. Costa. With her straightest and most confident posture, she said cooly, “Please give me the bracelet back,” _ugh I have to say please,_ “It’s for Sg.ra Bianchi.”

Vittoria extended her hand expectantly and for a moment, it was a silent battle between the adult and child. _He wasn’t gonna give it back_ . Calling him out was her best option and she knew it made him uncomfortable. _Good._ His eyes narrowed and a breath left his nose, but with a smirk and a chuckle he dropped the bracelet back into her hand, “I just hope one day you’ll make one for me.”

_Not likely._ “Only for a gazillion dollars,” she said sweetly, slipping her hand back into her Papa’s and with a soft smug smile, let him pull her towards Mrs. Bianchi.

Her heart broke when she saw the misery painted on the woman’s face that she could only compare to Mary’s when she saw what happened to her son. The warmth in her eyes was now absent, extinguished by the cold reality she was now living in. She said nothing and didn’t move, and not even Vittoria’s presence lit a light in the brown eyes, but Signora Bianchi did smile. Papa spoke with her, saying a few words in a sympathetic tone, and the woman who had a lot to say, could only manage at the very most three words. 

Vittoria immediately made a move to hug her and when she was finally embraced, she was held tight. “Mi dispiace,” she whimpered, burying her face into the woman’s soft belly.

_She always gives really good hugs._ When they finally pulled away, she extended her small hand with the bracelet to the woman. “So we can match,” she said quietly, suddenly nervous that she wouldn’t like it.

The woman gave her a watery smile and cupped her cheek, “Grazie. Sei la bambina più dolce.”

Vittoria knew right then and there that the woman was _really_ sad because she wasn’t showered with kisses or left breathless by hugs. “So _you’re_ the little girl our mamma won’t stop talking about,” came a crisp boyish voice.

Startled, she turned to the side and saw two identical-looking young men. _Twins_. 

She didn’t need anyone to tell her that these men were the Bianchi's sons. Her eyes went to her honorary Nonna and she saw that Mrs. Bianchi was smiling at her children, _thank you, God! She deserves to smile._

The pair of young men were without a doubt younger than Ms. Sagesse. They had boyish faces but there was a sign of emerging sculpted features behind some baby fat. There were dimples in their rosy cheeks that gave them a baby-faced youthfulness, and all Vittoria could liken them to were “baby adults.” They had their family’s deep warm brown eyes that Vittoria had come to be loved and feel comforted by. Unlike Ms. Sagesse and Mrs. Bianchi, their brows weren’t sculpted and looked messy and bushy. _They look like caterpillars. Like the ones, we grew into butterflies when we were in first grade_.

Thankfully for her, she could somewhat distinguish them between the way they parted their hair. One of them had a side part with a comb-over, and thus she dubbed that twin _Mr. Side_ and the other twin with a middle part _Mr. Middle_. Yes, she presumed they had actual names but she liked her nicknames much better! To her delighted and relieved surprise, they spoke English. 

“You must be Miss Vittoria,” Mr. Side said in a warm honey voice, “My name’s Raphaello.”

Mr. Middle then proceeded to introduce himself, “And I’m Massimo.”

“Ciao,” she said quietly.

Mr. Side took her hand and kissed it delicately. “Preferisci l'inglese o l'italiano?”

_Mmm, I like English but I don’t want Signora Bianchi to feel left out._ “L'italiano va bene!” she answered.

“Nostra madre parlava tanto di te,” Mr. Middle said kindly, “Grazie per esserti preso cura di lei mentre eravamo via.”

Vittoria slowly translated the sentences in her head, and after a while finally formulated a response. “Prego,” she replied shyly, “Mi dispiace che tuo padre sia morto. È morta anche mia madre.”

Papa looked at her proudly. _I’m so much better than I was._ A pain settled in her chest and it must’ve shown on her face because Mr. Middle spoke again, “We heard. We’re very sorry.”

The sudden change back into English startled her but also came as a relief. For a moment, until her negative thoughts took over. _I need to get better. I’m so bad at it….I need to practice and-_

Mr. Side spoke again, “So you know how it is then?”

_Oh..._ She nodded and tried to think of something else to say. Finally, she came up with something and pleasantly gave her sound advice, “I get sad a lot but I have a kitten to talk to. Maybe you should get a kitten.”

Vittoria refrained from mentioning she had her Papa to talk to as well because _they don’t have a Papa anymore_ . The pair of them smiled, a genuine smile that she never wore the days after her Mama’s death. _How can they smile now_? “Thank you. That’s terrific advice,” Mr. Side said in good humor, “Don’t you think Massimo?” 

“Great advice,” he confirmed.

The pain in her chest dissipated and it was replaced with pleasure and pride. _I should be an advice giver when I grow up_. “And how old are you Ms. Vittoria?” Raphaello asked.

The solemn mood remained but tension faded away. “I’m eight-years-old,” she said proudly, “My birthday was in December.”

“Eight years old?” Massimo asked, his bushy eyebrows raised, “Wow, you’re a big girl!”

“Uh-huh,” she agreed.

_I’m almost a grown-up._ “The bracelet you gave our mamma is very pretty. Did you make it yourself?” Raphaello asked.

“Si. She got me this,” she said as she pointed to her diamond cross, “And I wanted us to match. I can make you one if you want?”

“Oh that is very sweet of you,” cooed the twins in unison, “Alessia, why have you been keeping little Signorina Borghese all to yourself?”

“She’s not mine,” Ms. Sagesse laughed.

“Yeah, I have a different mommy,” Vittoria clarified.

Papa squeezed her hand a bit, usually his sign for her to hold her tongue but she didn’t know why. _I barely even said something_ . Just as quickly as she had been included in the conversation, she was just as suddenly excluded. All of the adults slipped back into Italian and she stood there silently, watching them speak. For some reason, her and Papa were kept by the Bianchi’s side while people came up to pay their condolences to the grieving family. _Why do we have to be here? I’m so bored..._ Vittoria could understand most of the adults and the guests' conversations if she concentrated hard enough but she knew she wasn’t allowed to speak because they were having “adult talk” so she tuned out. 

There were **so many** people at Mr. Bianchi’s reception. _More than Mama’s._ While there were barely any guests to fill the Marks’ house (even though it seems so crowded to Marilyn), there were several to actually fill the _ground floor_ of the mansion. _I don’t know any of them,_ she pouted. “Vittoria,” Papa shook her, “Say hi.”

Vittoria looked up at her father with her brow furrowed. _What?_ When her head looked forward she saw the second person she least desired to see. “Ciao Emilio,” she said in a small shy voice.

“Ciao Vittoria,” he grinned, taking her hand and kissing it making sure to leave slobber.

_I’d be happier to see Sawyer. Yes, God, I’m that desperate._ “Signorina Borghese,” Sig. Mazzeo exclaimed with a happy smile and gave her a kiss on her cheek, “È un piacere rivederti!”

“Buongiorno Sig. Mazzeo,” she smiled.

Vittoria actually liked Sig. Mazzeo, more than she liked the other men she had met. _I don’t know why Papa doesn’t like talking to him. He barely has to say anything!_ Sig. Mazzeo pinched her cheeks before speaking loudly to a small body behind him, “Vieni fuori. Non essere timido!”

Vittoria’s eyes settled on a small girl standing behind Sig. Mazzeo. She immediately recalled Emilio saying he had a sister who was supposed to be near Vittoria’s own age. The girl’s hair was a dark brown, bordering on black, and fell to her shoulders. She was wearing a black lacy dress and Vittoria immediately felt a pang of sympathy, knowing how much a dress like that itched. Unlike Emilio, the girl had a round face that gave off an air of gentleness and kindness, but there was no way Vittoria would assume that would match her personality. _That meanie proved he was meaner than he looked_.

“Nicolletta,” Sg.ra Bianchi cooed, immediately embracing the other girl and giving her kisses around her face.

_Excuse me?! You’re my Nonna_ . Vittoria looked around again and saw another woman around the age of Sig. Mazzeo standing by his side, holding a small boy who looked no older than the age of three. Old age _certainly_ did her several favors. She had long grey hair that was tucked gracefully into a bun with a few tendrils falling loosely to frame her angular face. The boy she was holding looked nothing like his eldest brother. He had dusty brown hair and a chubby cherub face that made him look innocent. His other brother’s hair was brown but a few shades darker, and presumably the youngest’s would grow closer to that shade as he grew older. His face was a lot bonier which gave him an unhealthy look. 

As soon as the girl was smothered, the other two boys received a hearty dose of love from the widow. For a moment, Vittoria’s heart panged with jealousy. _She’s_ **_my_ ** _nonna. You have your own!_ Sadness settled in her chest. _I wish I met my grandparents_ . Yes, the Bianchi’s and Sg.ra Giordano had been good to her, but she would have still liked to know the people who raised her own parents. _Mama and Papa never like talking about them though._ Her Papa was as forthcoming with information about his parents as Mama was. “Vittoria, questa è la moglie del Sig. Mazzeo e gli altri tre nipoti. Vinnie, Luca, and Nicolletta.”

“Ciao,” Vinnie waved.

_He’s closer to my age and they picked HIM?! WHAT?!_ “Salve,” she said politely before she stared at the little girl, “Io sono, Vittoria.”

“Io sono Nicolletta” she said shyly.

As Vittoria was looking for something else to say, Sig. Mazzeo interrupted to tell them that they had to leave so the next guests could extend their condolences. “Ciao!” the three children called in unison, waving as they left.

Only Emilio had the audacity to not say goodbye, but like a _good girl_ , Vittoria remembered her manners and waved back, “Bye.”

The minute they were out of earshot, Vittoria spoke in a perky voice, “She looks nice. I wanna play with her.”

Papa raised his eyebrows, “Who?”

“The other girl, of course,” she exclaimed.

Papa’s lips pursed together, “We’ll see. Now’s not the time to talk about it.”

As he said that, the next person came up and she had to hold back an audible groan. “Le mie condoglianze signora per la morte di suo marito,” Mr. Costa said, taking the hand of Mrs. Bianchi and kissing it.

_You’re a terrible actor_. She saw Mrs. Bianchi looking at him with a great amount of dislike that Vittoria could’ve sworn was actually hate. _She doesn’t hate anyone._ The air around them was tense, so tense that Vittoria felt like she was standing in an actual brick. Raphaello and Massimo were grimacing but spoke politely. 

Vittoria listened intently on the conversation. “Che cosa terribile hai dovuto vedere. Non avresti dovuto vederlo morire,” he schmoozed with a syrupy voice that fooled none of them.

“And your poor daughter,” he smiled in fake sympathy as he turned to Vittoria, “To see such a violent thing at her tender age. How terrible it would’ve been if she were in the car with him.”

That was very much a terrible thing to say. Not once had Vittoria considered what would’ve happened if she had been in the car with Mr. Bianchi. Vittoria immediately began to cry in distress, which caused Mr. Costa to grimace and to look properly uncomfortable while the rest of the adults around her tried to comfort her. Papa picked her up and she instantly buried her face into his neck and sobbed. He rubbed small circles on her back and due to the funeral setting, she wasn’t reprimanded for crying as it very much fit the occasion. _I nearly died! I could’ve died!_

Her terror caused her to sink into her mind to the point she couldn't hear the adults scold Costa in rapid Italian nor see him retreat after giving off one more half-hearted condolence. “I al-almost...I almost di-died,” she sobbed.

Papa began to shush her and say soft things in Italian in her ear before transitioning to English, “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

“My aunt says you may take her to Vittoria’s room,” Ms. Sagesse said in sympathy.

_Vittoria’s room_. _I have my own room here._ Her heart almost warmed until the cruel reality set in that _I ALMOST DIED!_ It wasn’t long until she was in _her_ room and sitting on her Papa’s lap crying as he rocked her back and forth. “I don’t wanna...wanna...I don’t wanna die,” she said in a voice muffled by her father’s now snotty suit.

The man truly felt immersed in fatherhood at that point. “I’ll never let that happen,” he said firmly, “I’ll never let anyone hurt you. I swear on my life.”

Her crying turned softer as her Papa began to tell her comforting words. “I’ll kill anyone who even looks at you with bad intentions. I’ll make sure their body, name, and entire identity are erased from this world,” he cooed.

Her heartfelt a little lighter. “You’d...you’d…” she gasped trying to inhale more oxygen in her hiccuping lungs, “Really do...do that for me?”

“Of course, principessa,” he said, holding her tightly.

“Thank,” she hiccuped, “Thank you, Papa.”

His words made her feel safe and loved. “But I always need you to be honest with me,” he said, pulling her away from his chest, “I need to know _everything_.”

“Yes, Papa,” she agreed obediently.

“Now tell me _exactly_ what happened with Costa that day,” he said, his blue eyes turning to steel.

“Am...am I in trouble?” she asked nervously.

“No. Just tell me what happened. Leave nothing out,” he said, prodding her to tell her story.

Papa patiently listened to her recount the events of that day. It spilled out of her, every detail and feeling she experienced. Vittoria had hardly realized she wanted to desperately talk about it with someone. When she had finished, Papa sat in silence. He didn’t look at her, he just stared off into the distance with what she termed his “thinking face.” _Am I in trouble? He said I wouldn’t be…_ “Vittoria…” he said softly.

“Yes, Papa?”

“You are to _never_ be alone near him. You will always find another adult. Is that understood?” 

His eyes met hers with a seriousness that terrified her. “Is he…” she gulped, “Is he a sexual predator, Papa?”

If the situation weren’t so serious, her Papa would’ve laughed at her use of the word but this wasn’t the time for humor. “Do you understand me, Vittoria?” he asked, demanding her answer.

“Yes, Papa,” she confirmed with a strong voice before giving off a look considering an important question, “What...should I shoot him dead if I’ve gotta gun?”

_That’s what Mama said to do._ Papa’s eyebrows met the top of his forehead, “Where did you get an idea like that?”

_He hasn’t said no_. “Mama.”

Papa sighed and rolled his eyes internally. “Certo che ha detto che,” he groaned before sighing and turning to his daughter, “I give you permission to shoot Costa if you have a gun.”

Vittoria nodded and leaned against his chest. She was content to sit there, listening and feeling their breathing even out. They stayed like that for a while, enjoying the silence and each other’s company.“I like you better this way,” she mumbled into his chest, finally breaking the quiet.

“What way?”

“I like that you’re squishy,” she said poking his tummy, “You’re much more comfy.”

She felt Papa stiffen and looked up at him with her big green eyes. “You’re very cute, Vittoria,” he laughed quietly, “Such a _cute_ and _sweet_ little girl.”

Her mouth spread into a genuine smile. She snuggled her face back into her Papa’s chest, _this is nice. I like this. Being with Papa is the best thing in the entire-_ A gentle knock echoed through the door. “Come in,” Papa said.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Massimo whispered quietly, “Is she asleep?”

“No,” Vittoria yawned.

Both men chuckled. “Well, not yet,” Papa said warmly, “I apologize. It was rude of us to remove ourselves for this long-,”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Massimo said before switching to Italian, “Se n'è andato.”

She felt Papa nod. “Mia madre voleva sapere se rimanevi a cena,” the man said.

_My mother...dinner…_ “Can we?” Vittoria whispered, hoping to delay having to go back to the car.

“We don’t want to intrude,” Papa said in English.

“You wouldn't,” the man responded, “Though I think she mainly wants your daughter to keep her company.”

Mr. Middle gave a small laugh at the last part. “Well, how can we deny her what she wants today?” Papa said, combing her curls back, “Hm?”

_We can’t_. Vittoria looked up and gave him a little smile, and with that, she was carried downstairs to dinner.

***

  
  


Vittoria wished she had said no, because guess who else was invited? _That’s right. Emilio._ Papa was better at hiding his disdain for the child, which was really disappointing. Vittoria was _highly_ considering taking her father up on his word to kill anyone who had hurt her. _I should bring it up right now_. 

Her eyes traveled sympathetically to Mrs. Bianchi who was fussing over setting the table for dinner, which Ms. Sagesse, the other old lady, Vittoria, and the other little girl (Vittoria had already forgotten her name) graciously helped her to do. The widow’s eyes were red-rimmed and she looked tired. The usual chattiness of the woman had died just like her husband... 

The older women were in the kitchen, finishing the cooking while Vittoria was left to set the table with the other little girl. The other little girl impressively knew where to put the silverware. _I wonder if she has an etiquette teacher too..._ They were silent for a good long while until the dark-haired child broke the silence, “My Nonno says you speak English.”

Vittoria’s head perked up, “Uh...yes.”

The girl smiled, “You sound American.”

“I am!” Vittoria grinned, “But I live here now.”

“Me too!” the girl smiled, “With my Nonno and Nonna.”

“I live with my Papa,” Vittoria said brightly.

“What about your Mama?” she asked innocently.

Her good mood vanished. “She died,” she said sadly.

“Oh,” the girl frowned and looked away.

The moment had immediately become awkward, and Vittoria was quite sure she ruined everything. She couldn’t bring herself to care, because quite frankly the pain she was feeling-, “I don’t live with my Mommy because she and Daddy got in trouble for selling and sniffing flour.”

The small voice broke her out of her brooding. “What?” she asked.

_Why would anyone sniff flour? It makes your nose itchy_. “Mommy and Daddy got in trouble for making flour,” she pouted, “But that was their job. They had a bakery!”

The girl’s lower lip formed a pout and her dark eyes turned fiery, a sharp contrast to the gentleness she had in the church. Her posture straightened and was ready to speak up of the injustice she felt was inflicted on her. _Just like Mama_. “That’s...that’s sad,” Vittoria pouted, “And stupid! That’s their _job_!”

“I _know_!” the girl exclaimed, slamming a fork on the table, “And Nonna and Nonna got mad at that. So now we live with ‘em.”

Vittoria let out a little huff. _People judge her mommy just like they judge my mommy._ For a brief moment, she felt bad for him. _People talk so meanly._ “Well...do you like them?” she asked.

The girl exhaled tiredly, “Yeah I do.”

Vittoria liked Signore Mazzeo, even if she despised his grandson. He was always friendly and had tons of smiles to give. “Your grandpa’s very nice,” she offered, “He smiles a lot and my Papa likes talking with him.”

That part might’ve been a bit of a lie. Vittoria didn’t entirely know, because even though Papa thought listening to Sig. Mazzeo was tiring and sometimes annoying, that didn’t mean he didn’t like him.

“They don’t speak English good though,” the little girl whispered, “My brothers don’t talk good in it either.”

_That’s really hard. I’m lucky that Papa is very good in English_. It was already difficult enough to carry a conversation with the Bianchis. “I talk in American a lot,” Vittoria said with a smile, “Do you wanna talk with me?”

The girl grinned, “Really?”

“Uh-huh!” Vittoria’s smile widened.

Suddenly she got very nervous, her palms grew sweaty and her heartbeat quickened. _Just ask. You have to ask. Do it. Do it. Do it._ “Do you…” her voice wavered, “Wanna be friends?”

“Okay!” the girl said in a chipper voice.

“Really?”

“Really really!” the girl said, putting the final fork down and moved over to Vittoria.

Every negative feeling she felt up until that point vanished, and for one moment she felt hopeful. A pure childish happiness that she never felt before, even when she lived with her Mama. “I’m Vittoria,” she grinned, restating her name because she wasn’t sure if Nicolletta remembered or not.

“I’m Nicolletta, but you can call me Nicky,” she said, brushing a strand of her dark brown hair out of her face, “That’s what my family calls me.”

“Okay,” Vittoria said, grateful that she said her name again. _I had already forgot._

They chatted until dinner started, and after their passionate insistence, they were allowed to sit next to each other. In Vittoria’s opinion, the seating chart was fantastic since she was sitting next to her new _friend_. _I have a friend! I have a friend_! Papa sat right next to her though, and he looked much less enthusiastic given that he was seated right next to Signore Mazzeo. _Mr. Mazzeo and Mrs. Bianchi can be friends because they talk so much_! 

_Well, she’s not talking a lot right now, but when she gets better!_ English was rarely spoken at dinner, and really only used between the two little girls who spoke animatedly about the things they wanted to do together. “Do you know that jump rope song?” Vittoria asked as she took a dainty sip of chocolate milk.

“I know _every_ jump rope song,” Nicky bragged, “I’m really good at jump rope!”

“So am I! I’m also a profeshor-snell swinger,” Vittoria smiled.

Papa choked on his wine which made her look up at him in concern. “You’re,” he coughed, “What?”

“A really good swinger,” she repeated, tilting her head in confusion.

“We have a swing set at our house,” Nicky said, “You should do it with me!”

The redness in her Papa’s face faded away and his cough disappeared. “Oh, of course,” he said, taking another sip of his wine.

Ms. Sagesse was snickering on her side of the table and the twins were wearing a shit-eating grin. “The word is _professional_ my dears,” Ms. Sagesse smiled.

“Ohhhhh,” they said in unison.

“Would you _like_ to be a professional swinger, one day?” Mr. Middle asked with a smirk.

She didn’t notice her Papa trying to hide his scowl towards the man. “Mmm no. I wanna be an artist,” she said with absolute certainty.

Neither profession was something her father was entirely happy to hear about. “You’re eight. You have time to change your mind and decide,” he said as he took another sip of his drink.

_Just like Mama. She liked adult juice too_. The thought made her smile. “What do you wanna be Nicky?” she asked.

“I wanna be a dancer,” she smiled, “I do ballet!”

“That sounds super fun!” Vittoria said, bouncing in her seat, and turned to her Papa, “Can I do ballet?”

“Of course,” Papa smiled pleasantly.

Nicky leaned towards her and whispered, “I’m gonna show you all my favoritest ballerinas, but you’ve gotta keep one of ‘em a secret.”

Vittoria’s brow furrowed, “Why?”

“Cause she’s a Russian,” Nicky said seriously, “But she’s really good.”

_Is Nicolletta a spy? What?_ Vittoria didn’t know a lot about Italy’s history, but she knew like America, most of them didn’t like Russians. She bit her lip. “Are you a commie?”

Nicky gasped, “No! Never.”

_A commie would say they weren’t a commie._ Vittoria thought it over and realized with her sound reasoning, _but if she were a commie then she wouldn’t ask to be my friend. Also, I don’t care cause I wanna keep her as a friend._ She decided that despite Nicky’s possible communist ties, she would disregard it in favor of friendship. “Okay,” she said pleasantly.

The next few hours, because yes dinners in Italy were _long_ , she and Nicky spoke about ballerinas and artists. Mainly how _they_ were ballerinas and artists. Despite the grim circumstances of their meeting, their newfound friendship brought an actual smile to Mrs. Bianchi’s face. They almost forgot they were at a funeral several hours ago. Currently, Nicky was trying to show her how to do a plier as the adults talked about adult stuff. _And Emilio is stuck with them_. 

“It isn’t so hard,” Vittoria admitted.

“When you learn more, we should put on a ballet show!” Nicky squealed.

She gasped, “That’d be so fun!”

“Ya know, Milio was wrong about you,” Nicky said softly.

Dread filled her and the contents of her stomach began to hear. _What did HE say?_ “What did he say?” she censored herself.

“That you were a spoiled brat,” she said and once she saw her look she quickly added, “But he was wrong! Milio lies a lot. Like ALL the time.”

_Well duh!_ “He pushed me down,” Vittoria admitted, “He really hurt me.”

Nicky’s brows met each other and she scowled. With a pout and crossed arms, she huffed, “Milio really is bad. He pushed me down the stairs once. I broke my arm.”

Vittoria gasped in horror! “How could he?”

“He thinks he can do whatever he wants,” Nicky hissed, “Cause he’s the oldest boy.”

Vittoria was very glad at the moment that she did not have a brother nor that she was friends with any boys. “My Mama used to say boys are full of the devil,” Vittoria added.

A dark look crossed the girl’s eyes, “Everyone likes ‘im more than me.” 

“ _I_ like you more than him,” Vittoria said walking over to take her hand like she’d seen friends do for each other in TV shows, “I hate him.”

Nicky smiled and squeezed the girl's hand. “Wanna start an _I hate boys_ club?”

“Yes!” Vittoria squealed.

_The most perfectest club in the whole wide world_. “One of the rules _has_ to be we hate Emilio,” she said with certainty, “Even though he’s your brother.”

Nicky tilted her head and confusion spread across her face, “Emilio’s not my brother.”

_Huh?_ “What do you mean-,” she began to ask before their adults came in to signal that it was time to go home.

Papa was holding her mink coat, “Principessa, it’s late and time to go.”

She immediately pouted, her questions and confusion forgotten. _The minks!_ Her heart hurt and she realized with everything that had been going on, she wasn’t saying her nightly prayer for the poor little animals that gave their lives for her _. I’m a terrible person. Dear God, please let those poor little minks be happy in heaven and tell them I love them. Your humble servant, Marilyn Flora Winslow._ Vittoria subtly crossed herself after she finished her prayer.

Signore Mazzeo said something in Italian and Nicky frowned but nodded. The girl gave her a tight quick hug, “Bye Vittoria!”

Vittoria wrapped her arms around her new friend, “Bye Nicky.”

Sig. Mazzeo gave her father a fond goodbye and gave her a kiss on her cheek. “Grazie,” she smiled, much more at ease around the man.

“Two play sometime, si?” he smiled.

She immediately grinned at the thought of a playdate with Nicolleta. “Si signore!”

He laughed and gave her a pat on the cheek before he tipped his hat and left. The minute he was out of sight, she ran up to her Papa, “I made a friend, Papa!”

Papa grinned though his smile didn’t quite meet his eyes, “I see that.”

“She’s much better than that little bi...I mean Emilio,” she quickly fixed.

Papa narrowed his eyes, “What were you about to call him?”

Vittoria’s face blanched. “Ummm...that little baby?”

It was more of a question of _can I get away with it?_ “Uh-huh,” Papa said suspiciously, “Well I like her more too.”

“Is it cause she’s not a stinky boy?” Vittoria whispered scandalously.

“That’s the reason,” Papa said in a sing-song voice, attempting to slide her into her coat.

“Can’t you buy one that _doesn’t_ kill little animals?” she asked sadly as her arms finally went through the holes.

“I will from now on,” he lied to her.

It’s not like she’d actually know the difference between real fur and faux fur, but so long as she believed poor little animals wouldn’t be killed, she’d be happy. Papa began to guide her towards the car, which was a forty-five-minute process because he had to say goodbye to the rest of the Bianchi's and Ms. Sagesse who also insisted on saying goodbye to _her_. “It was lovely to meet you, Vittoria,” Raphaello cooed, “We look forward to seeing you more often.”

Massimo took her hand and kissed it, “We’re moving back in with our mother, so I’m sure we’ll be spending plenty of time together.”

“There are a lot of rooms in your house,” Vittoria noted, trying to keep a blush out of her face.

_They’re not like other boys. They’re nice._ The twins chuckled. Ms. Sagesse softly said, “Yes, there are. Don’t worry, you get to keep your own.”

“I’d be okay on the couch,” Vittoria said graciously.

_Their couches are very comfy!_ The adults gasped, “Never! We’d never put such a special little girl on the couch,” Raphaello said as he pinched her cheek affectionately.

_Ow._ “Sorry,” she apologized, feeling bad for a reason she couldn’t quite understand.

Signora Bianchi came towards her and cupped her face with her warm hands, “Come soon si?”

The woman’s eyes held such desperation to them as if a stranger had all of the answers to her life’s problem. “Si signora,” she said kindly and wrapped her arms around the woman’s soft body, “I’m sorry.”

_She did so much to help and love me. I wish I could help her._ **_Please_** _take care of her God. I know I wasn’t good, but_ ** _please_** _take care of her._ The woman gave her a soft kiss on the top of her hand before handing her back over to her father. It would’ve been a peaceful note to end on...if her Papa’s car wasn’t in the exact place Mr. Bianchi’s had been and if she weren’t in the exact place she was in when she saw his car explode. Vittoria began to shake her head, and whispered, “No, no, no.”

Papa sighed tiredly, “It’ll be fine.”

It most certainly wasn’t fine and it wasn’t until Sg.ra Bianchi called her driver to get in Papa’s car and drive it around to prove it wouldn’t spontaneously combust that her sobs turned into soft cries. “Vittoria, it’s safe to go in now,” he said, trying to pull her out of the foyer.

“No!”

“Vittoria,” he hissed as she tried to get her mary-janes to grip the marble floor in a fruitless attempt to stay safe.

She began to hyperventilate and it soon became crystal clear that there was no way they'd get her into the car without carrying her kicking and screaming. “You’re embarrassing me,” he ground out as he fastened her into her seatbelt. The twins stood on opposite sides of the car doors, holding their positions in case she tried to make a break for it. Once she was snuggly tucked in, Papa backed out and the car door quickly slammed in her face to prevent her from escaping. She swore that the man was the Flash given how quickly he made it around the car and slid into his seat. 

Papa gave a polite wave towards the twins, Ms. Sagesse, and the now very emotional Sg.ra Bianchi as he pulled out of their driveway and began their drive home. “Get ahold of yourself, Vittoria,” he grumbled insensitively.

_We’re gonna die, we’re gonna die, we’re gonna die!_ Her small trimmed fingernails dug into the leather seats, leaving marks of distress. “You upset Mrs. Bianchi. The poor woman lost her husband Vittoria. You can’t be so embarrassingly selfish with your antics,” he lectured.

The poor child barely registered his words. “It was so scary, Papa!”

“Don’t yell in the car,” he said snappily.

“I saw him die!” she screamed.

“You weren’t the only one, Vittoria. Signora Bianchi saw her _husband_ , life partner, the _father_ of her _children_ die. Her children had to watch you have a breakdown over their father’s death when he was hardly more than an acquaintance to you. _You_ reminded them of that night when they’re trying so hard to put it past them,” he lectured in frustration.

The car moved faster as did her own breath. “How would you like it if _you_ were constantly reminded of your mother’s death? By complete strangers who knew nothing of her?” he said, his voice suddenly changing to something bitter and not so sweet.

“I killed him!” 

“You did not kill him,” he said, pressing the gas as he finally saw the gates in front of their home emerge and pull open.

“I wished him dead!”

_I’m a terrible person. I don’t deserve to live._ “Vittoria, if everyone died who we wished dead then no one would be left in the world,” he explained.

She paused for a moment. “I...I wanted Rodney Lord dead,” she confessed.

“And did he die?” Papa sighed, finally pulling into their driveway.

“No,” she whispered, “Sawyer also didn’t die. And I wanted him dead more than Mr. Bianchi!”

Papa’s tongue clucked against his cheek and he sighed a heavy breath, “You see, Sawyer’s not dead either.”

“Sadly,” she grumbled.

“Vittoria,” he chastised.

“Sorry,” she said half-heartedly.

Papa looked at her through his rear-view mirror and for a moment she felt scared. More scared than when he threw Principessa Snowbell out in the rain. “You’re...you’re not gonna give me away, are you?” she asked.

_WHY DID YOU SAY THAT? WHY DID YOU GIVE HIM THE IDEA?_ “Never principessa,” he said with exhaustion lacing his tone, “But you can’t go on like this anymore. You’re the way you were when you came here and it’s enough. You’ll see terrible things in your life but you have to move on.”

Papa spoke in such a profound way that she could hardly understand it. All she knew was that Papa was tired of her. “Have...have you seen bad things, Papa?”

Papa’s blue eyes for just a flash of a moment, barely a millisecond, looked vulnerable. Looked like they were in pain and could even be called sympathetic before hardening behind a steely fortress. “I have and I moved on,” he said in a firm adulty voice.

Vittoria hung her head. “I just get scared,” she whispered.

Papa leaned his head against his headrest. Her Papa was committed to being the better parent, the more loving one. The _perfect_ father, but fatherhood was much more difficult than he anticipated. It was tiring, messy, and emotional. He was doing it all alone and for once in his life, he _wanted_ to admit to himself and no one else that something was hard for him. 

But how do you reason with a child who is developmentally unable to see reason? How do you comfort a child who has seen things a scarce few amount of children have seen? It was difficult but as much as a small part of him wanted to admit it, he wouldn’t allow himself to. Because _everything comes easily to Leonardo Borghese_.

“I know you get scared,” he breathed, breaking the silence, “We’ll deal with that.”

Vittoria didn’t like the way he said the last part and prayed to God that whatever happened next in her life wouldn’t be terrible. 


End file.
